The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series

by E Cantu Alegre

  He’d start with her casually. She was a lady to him. If she was to be his lady, she deserved a respectable start.

  If the aroma of her food wasn’t enticing, the mesmerizing sultry sound of her voice was. Like recent times before this, he followed his senses to the kitchen. There, he found her tall form swaying like a pond reed in a spring breeze. Her back was to him. She sang and busied herself at washing the dishes or chopping turnips. The apron tied around her displayed her narrow waist and under it, a tightly stitched dress that had clearly seen better days.

  His steps were not heard over the weaving of her voice. This time, he would make his presence known. He quietly dragged out a stool and sat, waiting. The sweet look on his stony face was not practiced. He genuinely loved watching her. He determined he could watch her for vast amounts of time. So, lost in hearing her, moments fluttered by.

  Then, she finally turned.

  “Sire Grude!” She blinked and then dove into a curtsy. The result was her lowering awkwardly instead, the fabric of her dress forbidding the expanse and stretched taut. It wasn’t designed to be a dress for common wear.

  “Please, don’t.” He stood lifting her hand to his mouth and placed a light kiss upon it. It had been a normal greeting for them for some time. “Don’t bow for me. I forbid it.” His lips pulled back in a thin smile as he released her hand.

  She straightened her posture. The look of disbelief splashed across her ivory face.

  He read her expression and continued in explanation, “Well, we’re both royalty in some way—you the Queen of melody, and I, the King over the Odana lands.”

  Cantata’s smile widened. “You know, I always felt a little that way myself.”

  Yes, he was aware of her vanity. It was the card he knew to play. He had, from a distance, understood her ego. It was almost a match to his own though he was self-aware of this fact. She was much like him, in that way. Of course, he also knew of her hatred toward her fellow-kind. He’d have to entice her to at least feign compassion for them.

  “Well, of course you have.” Grude lured, “You’re a sharp one, my Cantata.” He narrowed his gaze upon her. “You know your place.”

  A flush bloomed at her temples, “W-Well, what brings you here, sire?” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Is there something I can fix for you?” Sections of her hair once again escaped the bun and jutted out from the sides, always refusing to obey.

  “No, Cantata, you’ve done quite enough this evening having prepared my meal. The truth is, since you’ve been here, I’ve missed my time getting to hear you practicing in the instrument room during the afternoons.” Hearing the delight of your voice, but have instead enjoyed the delight of your fare. He paused, “And again, call me Grude.” He requested this of her in the past, but she still continued to call him sire. In that way she was somehow like a healed broken bone that ached for a good resetting.

  Her eyes widened at the repeated request.

  He continued, “I feel as though we are getting to know one another well these days, and I will not beat around at this. I plan to get to know more of you. I prefer it if you’d call me by my name since we’re…since we’re—” A sigh escaped him and he allowed that thought to linger in the air as a sugary dream. The feeling he had for her was mutual. He noticed the way she noticed him—her glances that remained seconds longer than necessary. “You know...being in that throne room all day can be lonely.”

  He had her attention. She stared at him. A startled field mouse before a barn cat. “Well yes, I would imagine so. The other cooks that bustle in and out at odd times throughout the day have me feeling the same way. No one stays in here with me for long.” She paused to catch his gaze again. “It’s all I can really do—to help,” she added quickly.

  “And it’s not easy—thinking of ways to help the WynSprign folk.” He paused, now trying to reel her in. “Now, I’m sure you care for them greatly—as much as I do perhaps. I’ve been toiling in thought over how better to provide for them, to better serve them.”

  She had never once professed her affection for her fellow WynSprign, in fact, she mostly complained about them—and openly. “Oh yes, sire, Grude-er Grude.” She smiled and the famed gap between her two top teeth gleamed. “I ponder on that myself, uh, frequently.”

  “I’m certain you do.” Grude noticed her reaction. He enjoyed seeing her smile. For some reason, he enjoyed that smile.

  Still standing next to it, he studied the countless cuts embedded into the chopping block table. He ran his thick gray fingers over the grooves—the uneven valleys that marred the surface from years of pounding, and cutting various cuts of meat. “We’ll have to make time to discuss ways for me to make improvements to their current situations seeing as how their leader, the alleged surviving Lanico and his small clan of Soldiers, never came back.” He breathed. “I know that I could have been more accommodating to them, to the WynSprigns, but their ways are very different.” He looked up to meet her softened gaze. “Join me? Cantata, will you help me in better leading your people—at doing a better job providing for them?” A smile twisted on his face. He could almost see the images writhing within her gaze. The imagined throngs of devoted Mysra and WynSprign alike, gathered at the base of the castle, waiting just to see her. Waiting for a mere glimpse of her face. Their cries of joy at the sound of her name. To hear her rallying, their support and encouragement. To hear her voice again.

  Her eyes remained fixed and her voice a whisper, “Yes, of course, Grude.” With the way he was staring at her, she would do just about anything for him—for that look he gave.

  Delighted, Grude thought, Of course, she will... She’s the songbird.

  Chapter 5

  Before his lips landed on hers

  The brass-laced pine scent that drifted from the mountain crest, the rolling valley that started with innumerable dots of green, and then the increase in their volume—becoming ever vibrant over the distant Odana Mountains foothills. The Odana Forest only barely visible under the purple mountains was a stark deep green. The blue ribbon, the Odana River, dancing between it all and swirling into the forest far beyond. A path. Home.

  The tingling began again. That subtle tug, Odana, pleading him for an embrace, no, an emersion, or so it seemed. A feeling that came to him with every return since he was a young Knight, traveling back again after having been away in distance lands. He was to relinquish himself to it completely.

  Odana.

  This time, he wasn’t alone. The young warriors, their faces beamed, glowed. Yes. He thought in satisfaction, They feel it too. The mysterious tug; a mutual calling. But for he alone, it was an obligation. He belonged to the Odana lands.

  Treva met his gaze and understood the familiar feeling of return as well—a feeling that no matter how many battles she had been called away for, it was the sensation she too would never tire from.

  The two grinned at each other. “We’re home,” they thought in unison. Their smiles brightened and glinted.

  Lanico nudged the sides of his horse. The mount responded with others following close behind. They traversed down the steep switchback slope and into the waiting valley far beneath.

  The sun had not yet risen beyond the opaque sky when Lanico rose to shake the sand from his blanket. The well-worn black cloth was faded to mostly gray. He promptly tucked it into a tight uniform roll—the same way he had done numerous times in past, forgotten years. Someone long ago had once taught him to do it that way for some reason.

  With the sound of the rolling river near, his sharp gaze narrowed toward the Odana Forest, not yet visible from this vantage point on the ground at the Odana River bank—the same place he had stayed with Gish and Marin.

  Still, the breeze here carried the scent of pine and sun-warmed moss, his ama – his Fray mother. Long strands of his straight silver hair moved at the beckoning of the far-off woods. His pale skin was a stark contrast to the whipping green cloak on his back and the stern black of his outfit.

 
He was the only one awake. The thought of sleeping in late wasn’t his way. After he had his fill of breathing in the distant Odana Forest air, he roamed his lambent eyes over Treva. Tough but glorious, delicate but muscled—female in every way. She was the most beautiful vision he ever had known. Still delightfully asleep. All this time he’d been an overly taut bowstring, that now with her swift arrival something inside him snapped. This time there was no holding back. This time he’d have her. In his life, by his side, as his wife, and yes, in his bed. Once situated in his castle, he’d have none of that second bedroom nonsense.

  A smile drifted on his face thinking over a recent memory of her. She had been enchanting last night—he pondered this; her clandestine dance that took place in the middle of the night. Why? Why dance alone in the dark of night while we slept—? Watching her, he had pretended to be asleep.

  A short time ago, it hadn’t been easy, wiggling free from her desired embrace. They had slept next to each other in secret, under the cloak of blackness. Her arm draped over him throughout most of the night. The slight weight of it across his chest...he sighed. Her emerald hair flowed over the sandy ground, a shimmering green river of its own. Her skin was tan and smooth, with the exception of the slight scar he so loved. The harsh tone of her battle face softened at her repose. For as delicate as she was, her wakeful expression almost never showed any hint of it. After an eternity of minutes, Lanico made the difficult decision to roll out from her embrace and the warmth of the blankets. He moved to sit, remaining low, keeping his face near hers. He studied her realizing that he could probably remain this way, watching her, forever.

  And now, here he was done rolling up his mat and still in heavy thought over her. But time once again caught his mind. His cyan eyes moved to the sky overhead, time was moving, and he hated having to wake her. Perhaps if he woke her up in a warm, pleasant way?

  He crouched to his knees and leaned into her space, his hands bracing against the cool earth. His warmth kissed her face before his lips landed on hers. Gently, he kissed the scar there. She gave a slight moaning breath and crinkled her face at this. He backed away slightly, to see she was still sleeping.

  He turned to whisper in her ear through emerald strands. “Tre. It’s time to wake. Let’s enjoy this morning together before Freck and Felena rise.”

  Startled, Treva’s eyes flew open. Her arm swung. A swift blow plowed into his squared jaw. His hair flung. The edge of her hidden dagger now at the nape of his neck, prickling his skin. Strands of his hair draped across his face. Beneath the messed sections, his glowing eyes were huge and held wild horror and restrained fury. He glared at her a piercing stare, holding his sore but gaping jaw.

  Treva gasped in horror dropping the dagger. She sat up straightening in her blanket. “Love of Od—! I’m sorry, Lan!” She leaned forward to grab and pull him back into her. She settled leaning back, bringing him down with her. Her blanket-warmed skin was inviting against the cool of his own.

  She tried to explain with soft breaths. “I was dreaming of a Mysra, I-I grabbed that suna-bitch and slammed his face. Grabbing my sword’s hilt I—” She stopped her recount seeing his stunned face. “Oh, Lan.” She whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” She gently touched the blooming bruise. He made a small hiss. “Ooooo.” She cooed. Close. She was so damned close. She’d either kill or kiss him. Kiss. It was to be death by kisses. She kissed him along the edge of his sharp jaw and at the base of his pulsing neck where her blade had been. His scent, the tickle of pre-shaven whiskers, the warmth. Her efforts to apologize escalated and grew vigorous and passionate. His mood immediately softened and then heated, as Treva ran her hand up the back of his neck. Her leg curled over the back of his thighs, pulling him closer and closer, down and down with her into her welcoming, warmed bed.

  Now he remembered how Marin must have felt when Anah swung that branch at him. A payback for laughing, he mused inwardly. He responded to Treva’s passionate apology. The sound of sucking, landing kisses increased. The rustling of moving fabric sounded over the coursing river nearby. Lanico’s resistance to her utterly caved. He forgot himself, entwined in her limbs. Mind briefly swirling. Steamy. The cool morning air failed to dispel their heat. But…predator instinct. A slight movement was noticed near—prickled at his ear. Still kissing ferociously, he rolled his eyes to the movement.

  It was Freck.

  Both young warriors were sitting up from their beds. Freck moved to hide his smile behind his oversize adolescent hands. Lanico had lost his senses and forgotten himself, and about the young WynSprigns in their care.

  “Twee—” he tried, but she was still holding his face and kissing him too much “Tw-Fweck-n-Fewena.” His cheek was smushed beneath her hand, and his words equally smushed.

  Treva turned slightly, breath still touching his skin. They could see the young pair’s glowing, smiling eyes dancing on them.

  Lanico immediately pulled away from her. A flash of movement and he stood, barking a rigid command, “Time to move out!”

  Noting the severity in his eyes, Freck and Felena at once, obeyed the commands and leaped from their blankets, which they promptly shook out. Lanico shot Treva a dangerously sly glance from the side. She smiled. Her green hair was messed from sleep and from their brief impassioned tussle. She stretched, still sitting. He bent down and tore her blanket from her. Cold greeted her immediately and her body recoiled. He proceeded to shake it out for her. Her face became sharp, aimed up at him. His sly smile never wavered. He was her commander and her General Prince, after all. It was time to get up.

  ✽✽✽

  They had eaten the majority of their rations. There wasn’t much left and hunting small game was limited in these parts of the greater Odana lands. They had fished last night and had eaten early this morning. Though lean, that was to be their fill. Lanico decided to avoid waiting for the delicious results more fishing would reward. Catching fish was timely and the threat of Mysra foe in this area was still considerable. He knew they’d eat well later tonight once at Greta’s home.

  It didn’t take them long to pack up their belongings and ready the horses. Further encouraging the forward movement was the rain. The sky had started a filmy hue earlier and then, as if from nowhere, menacing storm clouds invaded, darkening their world as if night was still upon them. The rain unpleasantly showered them in sheets.

  Treva and Lanico were mounted closely side by side on LaCriox and Aspirium. Lanico wanted to ride out, but on the shallow river itself.

  “I’m aware that there are likely still Mysra warriors riding about these lands. The battle at the Great Mist was only just won.” He squinted at the young pair just behind. Raindrops splashed against his face and ran down his chin and neck. His voice carried over the rushing sound. “Riding on the river, like this, will serve to hide our tracks.” The young pair nodded in ragged unison. It was another one of his many lessons for them on this journey. He explained how the soft earth would utterly betray them, showing hoof marks, the number of mounts, and direction.

  When finished, he turned to look at Treva and continued, “Once deep in the cover of the woods, perhaps at the close of day, we can make camp. The foliage cover there is heavy and birch trees are numerous. We may happen to find dry kindling to make a fire. Or, if needed, I can use my small hatchet to hack away the wet outer layers of wood.” He ordered the horse quietly. Treva urged her horse to move, whickering and all. Freck and Felena followed suit.

  Hours passed. Riding side by side, he looked over to Treva. She found his gaze, but wasn’t smiling. Though she hadn’t said anything, he knew she was still grouchy over the lack of sleep. He shrugged putting his focus back on the stretch of river flowing in front of them. It wasn’t his fault she decided to wake in the middle of the night and dance—by herself. How mysterious she had been.

  When he spotted this unusual behavior, and despite this oddity, he merely watched her from beneath the blankets. Carefully averting his own gaze, he could see the gl
ow of her golden eyes. She had been awake. Her wide steps, the perfect form, it was a waltz, but why? Why so late in the night when no one was watching and enjoying it with her? He would have gladly risen to join her, but she was lovely to watch under the eternity of twinkling stars. A dancing female was perhaps the loveliest thing of all. He’d always felt that way; even as a younger man at his father’s grand balls when he often played a wallflower. Here he pondered to himself at the wonder that was Treva. His Treva. Then, a thought flashed in his mind. Marin. Immediately his thoughts rolled over his son, over his reaction to their blossoming relationship. Lanico would marry her as soon as the possibility presented. That was certain. He toiled in thought over what could seem like a quick decision for a boy only just getting to know his mother. Am I moving too fast for his sake?

  Equally as preoccupied were Freck and Felena who watched the two adults from afar. Over the time spent traveling, their fixation on watching Lanico and Treva together—their combined strangeness, increased as they inched toward the woods. It wasn’t only that the pair that had guided them been odd, but now they were headed for the Odana Forest. It had long been a place of mystery and intrigue to outsiders. Freck and Felena had heard about these woods in stories as children—all children of the Great Mist had. It had been said that a mystical Fray lived in the Odana woodlands, that she had the power to change WynSprigns into various forest creatures. A shuddering thought.