The Broken Realm

by Sarah M. Cradit

  “The price?” Christian laughed. He rubbed his gloved hands over his face. “How can he be so sure I was willing to pay? Or that I have any obligation to uphold my end of a bargain I did not agree to?”

  “Would you have preferred he leave Lady Aylen to die at their hands?”

  Christian sniffed. He looked away. “No, but for the love of the Guardians, I would have been a better negotiator.”

  “They didn’t come to negotiate,” Alric said. “You know this, Christian, even if your anger blinds you to it. Aylen falling into their hands was most fortuitous. But in surrendering himself, he has saved more than just her life.”

  “Yeah? Is that what I should say to my mother when I tell her that her husband is the latest in her life that will never come home? You think Nyssa and Torrin will be capable of understanding the lives saved by a father they’ll never see again?”

  No one had an answer. This was what it meant to be a lord. Even surrounded by many, he was completely alone.

  Christian threw his head back to the sky. There wasn’t enough air in the world to keep his head from spinning in rage, in pure, raw agony. He sucked at it anyway, desperate to feel something else than this utter helplessness that took over control.

  He looked toward the woods, where Holden had ridden off with the men of the Easterlands. The shock of the next realization hit him like being catapulted into a stone wall. Why was he still standing there when there was still time to go after them? There were no more than a dozen of them. They could take them with ease.

  But then he let his eyes fall again on the men, seas of pale, scared faces awaiting his direction. They needed him to assume the command his father had left him. They needed him to set the conditions for the rest of this war. They were paralyzed in their anticipation of something they understood better than the man tasked with delivering it to them.

  He’d failed them then, retreating into the tent to disappear into the same escape Aylen was in, even if she’d gone into this rest alone. But she was alive, and he was alive, and none of the rest mattered. He’d first run away from home to be with her, and then he’d come running back when the Sepulchre commanded the terms of his banishment. Could he stay, past their sentence? If she was at his side? He could do anything if Aylen was with him. She was all that had ever mattered to him.

  Now, it was all over. It was time to leave. To allow the men to return to their wives and children and hearths; to tend the farms awaiting their trained hands. They didn’t belong here. Perhaps they never had. Every moment spent here now was a moment wasted.

  Christian emerged from the tent. Marsh pulled to attention with an impressive quickness. He could see the boy had camped himself outside, awaiting a call to serve. He had known no rest.

  “At ease, Tyndall,” Christian said. He clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Other men came to life at the sight of their commander. Christian pulled back his posture, feeling himself fall into the role that already could not wait to shrug off. But that would come later. “See that the wagons are packed by nightfall. We leave at first light.”

  A light, nervous cheer passed through the men. Alric nodded in approval.

  He was happy for them. They’d return to their families, having tallied no losses of their own. Christian had lost more than his father. He’d lost his gift. Being away from the Sepulchre, his true home, had taken from him what made him special and whole, and had given nothing to fill that hole other than the beckoning promise of failure. He’d failed to see Aylen come for him, and failed to prevent his father from trading his life for hers.

  And now he would return to rule over Wulfsgate, and that failure would spread.

  Christian returned to the tent and his wife, and nursed the terrible hole in his gut where the uneasy future lived.

  * * *

  Marsh hung back as the men filled the wagons with the unused provisions. Some had even packed away their tents, too excited to be bothered with sleep that night. Others laughed and sang songs, deep in their cups, too deep to see to the morrow when they’d regret their lapse. They could afford their joy, for there had been no losses counted against their ranks in this short war.

  None but one.

  The image of Lord Dereham riding away would haunt his thoughts, waking and not, forever. Since returning with Aylen, he’d been met with brotherly claps on the back, and knowing nods, even some direct words from the men that it was not his fault. That he was fortunate to have been chosen as the man Lord Dereham wanted with him in the end. He hadn’t been chosen at all. He was the expendable one who wasn’t his son.

  Would a greater man have been able to stop it? This gnawed at him.

  Lord Alric ambled up. Marsh had been told by nearly everyone what a strange man Alric was—addlebrained, was the word the kind ones used—but though he had heard this enough to commit it to his memory as fact, he had not seen it himself. He saw only a man who had been through things no one else could understand. Marsh had never felt this more himself than he did now, when no words of well-intended comfort could undo what had been done.

  “There is no gain in torturing yourself, Tyndall. No man could have stopped him. No words could have changed their minds.”

  Marsh nodded. He took a swig from his wineskin, but the bitter liquid only made him sick. He spat it at his feet. “Still.”

  “Yes. Still,” Alric agreed. “But there’s more to every experience than what you can see before you. You’ll be known as the man who saved Lady Aylen’s life. When Christian comes around to the new life he has ahead of him, he’ll understand he owes you a life debt. He’ll see it paid.”

  “I don’t want him to owe me anything.”

  “There’s what you want, and then there’s the way of things.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  “What will you do on the morrow, then? Return to your own home? Wildwood Falls, is it?”

  “Not just yet.”

  “Your parents will be mighty relieved to see you.”

  “I have business in Wulfsgate.”

  Alric laughed. “Sounding like a right man, there Tyndall. What business awaits you in the Northerlands, then?”

  Marsh flushed. His eyes moved to his feet.

  “Ah, if not me, who can you tell? A man isn’t meant to keep it all inside all the time.”

  “I don’t keep things inside. It’s only that I don’t know the words. I suppose I’ll have time to find them, on the ride back north.’

  “A lady, then?” Alric’s brows rose. “Lady Ember?”

  Marsh grunted.

  “She’s a little spitfire, boy. You’ll have your hands full.”

  “It would be my honor to have my hands full.” Marsh flushed even deeper in horror.

  Alric chuckled. “You’re a bit young yet to be asking for her hand.”

  “I wasn’t too young to ride to war,” Marsh countered. “Or to ride by her side from Longwood Rush to Wulfsgate.”

  “Fair enough you are,” Alric agreed. He looked up at the day’s fading sun, raising a hand over his eyes. “Life is as long or as short as it is. Don’t let old men like me tell you what you can and cannot do.”

  “Do you have children, Lord Alric?”

  “A son. Balfour. He studies in Oldcastle.”

  “What would you tell him, then, if he told you he had picked a wife?”

  “He has a wife already picked for him, I’m afraid,” Alric said. “Lady Ember will be saved for someone too, I suspect. But with her mother and father both gone, you might find yourselves a way around it.”

  “Ember has never needed anyone’s permission. For anything,” Marsh mused, and he thought of her clever smile as he watched the rest of the sun disappear behind the forest.

  * * *

  Lord Warwick’s men helped secure the wagon Lisbet and Ash would use to transport Drystan. She’d nestled the blankets around him, and as she stepped back to regard her work, he looked almost peaceful. It would be the last time she ever set eyes upon her bro
ther. Witnessing him in this state was a grotesque reminder of the difference between her intentions and the outcome she was left with. She’d fled Wulfsgate to protect him, and now he was dead. When she finally saw her mother again, it would be her burden to tell her how it had all come to pass.

  Did Ravenna know? She wondered this as she rode a pace ahead of the wagon. Lisbet left the necklace around Drystan’s neck. He chose to wear it in life, even after Ravenna left him, and she would not take that choice from him in death. She took more than her love when she left. She could have protected him. Saved him.

  Lisbet knew better. Kian showed her the truth. Only a child or a fool would choose to see a lie instead.

  Gabi and Eavan had come, just as she thought they would. Meadow would go on with Steward James, where she would be reunited with her brother and together, when it was safe, make the voyage home.

  Gabi was eager to return to Longwood Rush, but Brandyn made her promise not to come until he could be sure all traces of the resistance was stamped out. He would send for her; he swore the Sacred Vow before all of them, which Gabi made him do before she would agree to leave him. Lisbet hid her jealousy well as the siblings embraced. She had other brothers, but there’d been only one Drystan.

  Her cousins rode behind the wagon, leaving her side by side with Ash. It was strange to think of how her relationship with this man had evolved. Her first impression had been gratitude, which had faded to suspicion so fast she hardly remembered how enamored she’d been with him that night he’d rescued them all. Now both these things seemed far away and unimportant. They’d lived a lifetime between that day and now. They were not even the same people.

  This was why she felt bold enough to say what was on her mind, rather than awaiting the courage or the ephemeral nudge of the right moment.

  “Ash, there’s something I need to ask you,” she said. This time, they were taking the path well-traveled. Kian had been clear: she was not to return to the Hinterlands unless by invitation. They’d bisect the land via the Compass Road, but wouldn’t venture east or west of the path.

  “Is this what you wanted to ask me in Whitechurch?”

  Lisbet nodded. She was grateful for Starcaller’s presence. That someone who loved her was there for this moment. “Kian told me about you and my mother. About Drystan.”

  Ash looked ahead with a blank look. “I assumed as much, when I saw you’d followed our path.”

  “You’re angry with Kian for not telling you that Drystan would die.”

  “You could say that.”

  “That is your right. But please don’t be angry with me.”

  Ash turned to look at her. “You? Lisbet, I... no, child. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at a fate that took from me my right to save my son. I’m angry that it was decided before we arrived, and that, even had I known it, it would have changed nothing.”

  “I understand that anger. I share it.”

  “What is it you wanted to ask me, then?”

  Lisbet didn’t hesitate. “Kian said you were my father. Not just Drystan’s. Do you believe that?”

  Ash’s face softened as he sighed. “I always wondered. I hoped. And then I didn’t dare hope, because I’d already taken one child from Holden, and I never meant to cause him such pain. It wasn’t his fault Gretchen was taken from me.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything? You spent all that time with Drystan, training him... loving him. But you hardly acknowledged me.”

  “That was the love he needed, Lisbet. You needed me to leave you alone.”

  Lisbet looked down as she scoffed. “All men want sons. I guess I understand.”

  “No. That was not the reason.”

  Lisbet whipped her head up. “Then what was the reason? How did you know what I needed? You never asked! You never even tried!”

  “It’s not so simple, Lisbet, it’s—”

  “Drystan was not the only one who needed someone!” she cried.

  Ash reached for Starcaller’s reins, slowing both horses in tandem. When they’d eased to a halt, he jumped down and reached both arms up for Lisbet. He pulled her down and into his embrace before she could fight it, and had her wrapped so tight she could hardly breathe.

  “I have never wanted anything more than a daughter,” he whispered against her hair. “I always knew Drystan belonged to Holden, but you? Even the thought of you dulled the heartbreak of losing your mother. When she carried you, I knew I’d gone too far with her. I did the only thing I could do, and I forced myself to leave, to return to the Medvedev, so I didn’t lose my strength and run back to demand my place in your life. Lisbet, you are more than I ever could have hoped for. More than I ever dreamed you would be. My distance was only my fears taking over. If you allow me to love you freely, I will die before I disappoint you again.”

  The two girls hung back with the wagon. Lisbet wondered, as Ash crushed her in his warm embrace, what they made of this strange scene. She’d told them what Kian said, of course, but Eavan and Gabi had both lost their fathers, in their own ways.

  Ash released her, still holding her at arm’s length. “You have my love, Lisbet. And while it is your choice whether you belong to the Derehams or the Sylvaines, I will never again let you feel as if you are not my daughter.”

  Lisbet sniffed through her tears. She wiped at her eyes. Nodded. “Kian said there were three. That you had three children.”

  Ash’s arms fell to his sides. “I’m certain Christian is Holden’s son. He’s the spitting image of his father.”

  “I don’t think he meant Christian.” Lisbet shifted. “He wouldn’t tell me who it was, but I know in my heart he didn’t mean any of my siblings in Wulfsgate.”

  “Who, then?” Ash touched his hand to the corner of his mouth. His eyes shifted back and forth as he searched his memories. “I cannot fathom it, there was never another, only your—” He cut himself off with a light gasp.

  “What? What is it?”

  Ash exhaled. “She’s gone now. If she had a child, that truth never came to me.”

  “How can we find out?”

  “We?”

  “You and me, Ash. Don’t you want to know?”

  Ash slowly nodded. “Yes, of course. Of course I want to know.”

  “Then it’s settled. When we’ve managed matters in Wulfsgate, we’ll go find them. You and me.”

  “You and me,” he repeated with a light smile.

  Lisbet realized, then, that it was three men she was talking to now. Ash, her father, and Dain Rhiagain. But he only knew he was two. It would fall to her to reveal the truth of his origins, but he would need his head on straight when he faced her mother.

  She would tell him. Just not now.

  * * *

  Eavan pretended to smile as Gabi gushed over the reunion between father and daughter. How sweet it was! How wonderful!

  She wanted to be happy for Lisbet. It had always seemed to Eavan that Lisbet kept one foot elsewhere, waiting to be called, and now she could pull it back and look forward. She adored Lisbet, more than her own sisters. Lisbet deserved happiness.

  But that wasn’t how Eavan felt at all. Lisbet had three parents, and Eavan had none. Her father was a traitor, and her mother a coward, and even if they were here, neither could help her through what awaited her soon as the child of a brigand rapist flourished in a belly she could no longer hide.

  “How long will you stay in Wulfsgate, then?” Gabi asked. Even the way she asked the question was offensive to Eavan. Like they were on holiday. Gabi had somewhere to go when all this was ended. Eavan would always now be at the mercy of the kindness—or more likely, pity—of others.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Your brother will be the lord now? Cian?”

  “So they say.”

  “I don’t blame you anymore, Eavan, for what happened to my father. I never should have. I see that now,” Gabi said. “Mine is dead, yours is a monster. My mother is lost to the world, and yours may as well be. We a
re both orphans now.”

  Eavan loathed the hot tears burning at her cousin’s words. They weren’t welcome. Nor was the sympathy, the forgiveness, the tenderness with which both girls dealt with her. Now Ash as well, who looked at her and saw only what had happened to her; what he had rescued her from, when she could not save herself. Somewhere along the way, Eavan the young woman had been lost, and now she was only Eavan the abused. Eavan the forgotten.

  “Do you think my sister will be there? Emberley? Brandyn said she was before, but she’s never been content to stay still for long. Oh, and how joyous Ransom will be when we tell him his father is sending him home! All these reunions...”

  “I would prefer it if we don’t talk anymore,” Eavan said. She ignored Gabi’s stricken look, gazing straight ahead as she waited for Lisbet and Ash to get moving again.

  * * *

  Gretchen had heard the men talk enough about the damnable tree where Pieter had disappeared that she had a fair enough image of it in her mind. When she found it, right where the pass veered south, it was about what she’d envisioned, down to the vibrant fruit glistening against the white snow. A fruit-bearing tree in the middle of a snowy mountain pass would have caught her notice even if she’d known nothing.

  Ransom had said that Pieter had been mesmerized by the fruit. Ransom, occupied by the fear their trail was hot with those who had killed Princess Assyria and probably Lady Asherley, did not understand this until he’d come closer. Once it was before him, he, too, was pulled in by a keen hunger, a desire baffling to him given the events of the morning had rendered his appetite dead.

  Gretchen clucked softly to Silverwind. Silverwind chuffed, understanding. They were already linked, forever. She’d told the mare, in her own way, to stay only as long as she felt safe. If Gretchen were to disappear, Silverwind would be the only evidence that she’d been here, but the horse’s return would be what was needed to complete the story. Within the satchel hanging from Silverwind’s saddle was the note she’d sworn she wouldn’t write to Holden.