However, exciting a prospect to venture into these new lands, the fear of those old stories brewed caution in the young WynSprign pair. Every step closer to the woods, inch by wonderful inch, the two grew increasingly anxious.
Freck dared to shift a glance to Felena. For the first time since they left, she met it. Worry splashed over her soft features. Her form was stiff, rigid in fear. Freck lifted a slow smile and at this, she eased. He pawed at Stefin’s antler in his pocket.
Chapter 6
A marriage between the WynSprigns and the Mysra
He sat on the throne trying to avoid the clawing of urgency gripping him. His plan. It had to work. He had to get the WynSprigns to abhor their former General Prince and feel at home here, under his own care. It would be a mighty challenge.
Grude straightened. Vibrations rumbled from outside. He felt from even from high above, on his throne. A thunderstorm had already rolled through leaving rain. He could tell the trembling wasn’t from that. His heart hardened. His troops had returned—or what was left of them. He could feel the reverberations of his Mysras’ heavy thudding steps far below through the distance. It was a significantly lower rumble than the quake when he had first seen them off. Though the rains saturated the grounds thoroughly, the multitude of feet squelched, trampling through thick mud, as they thudded through.
The failure to capture the WynSprigns graded against the return of strong, able-bodied Mysra warriors. The very thought left a bitter taste in Grude’s mouth, like ash. They may as well have killed me—may as well have torn the heart from my very chest. They had been beaten and killed by WynSprigns. WynSprigns, of all creatures! The news remained almost laughable had it not been for the reality of his predicament.
He imagined that they were probably waiting to see him. Normally when his warriors returned from raids across the lands, he’d greet them from the castle base. This time, Grude remained. He didn’t want to see them returned. There was to be no honor for them. It was not a welcomed return of heroes.
It was that glimmer of hope that he could somehow turn WynSprigns against their former General Prince. Time. It would take time just as Nizen had said, and he was right. It would. But there wasn’t much of it. Time was fleeting and he knew that the displaced General was planning—was scheming out there somewhere in the wilds.
He grumbled low. There wasn’t any point in sitting in here sulking, because that wouldn’t fix anything. It was late. Well past dinner. He knew where there was a lovely creature he couldn’t wait to wrap his mind and heart around instead. He rose from the throne.
He eased the door to the kitchen open to peek inside. He spotted Cantata swaying again, a mesmerizing being. Hypnotic almost in the cadence of her voice. He glimpsed around the room noticing she had already cleaned. Her tasks were completed for the day. The pots and dishes shimmered on racks, goblets had been put away, and she was already on to preparing the ingredients for tomorrow, and her singing...gloriously, it stirred in the delicious saturated air. Her gifts were of enchanting comfort. A glimmer of gladness now stirred in him like a brimming mug of warmed cider.
He let himself in. Perhaps to keep her company or perhaps it was to remove the disappointment of arrivals outside from his overly-taxed mind. It mattered not. He longed to be near her. To him, and perhaps he alone, she was a comforting presence. Searching his own feelings, he knew he had been fond of her for a long while. She had been a pet that he had kept well these years and she had been nourishing him these days. Now, she would serve him in the kitchen and in a larger plan and perhaps, nourish his heart.
The door creaked open farther. It was a difference from the usual slam that was heard when everyone else came in and out. Cantata looked up from her chopping board and her face became radiant at the sight of him.
“Grude! Oh, I was wondering if you’d come over here to visit this evening.” She smiled, sliding her hands against her apron. The movement left orange streaks.
Carrots. Tomorrow’s fare will include carrots. He gave her a satisfied smile and his reply, “And pass up a chance at your cooking and singing? Not ever.” His large pointed teeth gleamed and her breath caught at the sight.
“D-did you enjoy your lunch?” She managed.
He enjoyed how she fumbled over her words and in her asking, he read that she had care in her eyes; genuinely wanting him to feel contented. Grude blinked thinking over it. “It was delicious. The gloom of outside—well, the stew helped.” His thoughts of disappointment on his troops eased, but only a little.
“I’m pleased.” Her expression was a sweet one, but there was no fooling him. Her face was only innocuous for him. To everyone else, she’d been a monster—a delightfully mean force to which he was often amused.
“Cantata,” Grude continued, trying to find an excuse to keep her near. He was the ruler of this castle, of these lands and he somehow struggled to express his intentions with this WynSprign. “Would you please prepare something simple for this evening?” his voice said. She looked at him with confusion-splashed features. “Just something light to snack upon,” he clarified.
Her face, her gaze, traveled to various items. Savory cheese wheels that she’d yet to place away, a basket of crisp grapes, pink-toned apples piled in a bin, bread baked earlier and the golden bark of the crust, still delightfully crisp.
With satisfaction, he could see the wheels of her mind turning over this small task—trying to make it as grand as possible, for him.
“Yes. I can manage that.” She turned on a heel, snatched the cutting board, flicking off the remaining carrot bits into a waiting bowl. Her knife was at the ready.
“Cantata, once you’ve finished, please bring these to me on the balcony above.” He smiled. He grabbed two wineglasses from a row of cleaned stemware and the decanter of crimson wine that sat on the table. Without further word, he turned to leave.
“Yes, of course.” She turned to begin chopping away.
Grude strolled along the veranda at a leisurely pace. Even though he had been burdened previously, he was now feeling a bit lighter—lighthearted perhaps. She had done that. Cantata had been this light in his dark and in some way, she’d always had been. An inspiring songbird. It was because of her that he held a spark of hope. There hadn’t been much else that he could have held on to. He would invest all of himself in her—in the hope that her assistance could bring.
The rain had reduced to light mist, and the awning had been previously pulled out to cover the small tables and chairs. He resumed his consideration of the plan. It was going to take some time. She’d have to start trusting him with the new tasks—outside of her singing and recent kitchen work.
He stood leaning over the balustrades trying to see the darkened land beyond. Long ago, he was told that the former Odana Knights sparring circle was far below, somewhere in the black abyss beneath. It wouldn’t be visible at this late hour, even still, those grounds under the passage of time had been long covered by grasses and growth. The Knights and their training grounds were legends. Despite his low odds at the time, he had managed to overtake them. A dark chuff of laughter escaped him. He was no fool. He recognized that his warriors were subpar in comparison to the legendary Odana Knights of old, but it was with planning and strategy that he made that victory his.
Grude felt a swirl of renewed energy at this. If he could outwit and beat Lanico’s Knights all those years ago, he would surely do it again. Plus, Grude was already here, already sitting on the throne. His task was merely to keep it that way. He felt his confidence build while still gazing over the darkened landscape.
The flame of several candles in table lanterns guttered. It was fortunate that the lanterns had been crafted to protect against rain or else they would have been snuffed by now. The brisk air was most welcome and the beeswax candles gave a sweetened honey scent. He sighed, waiting. Cantata opened the door to the balcony with a silver platter. Her climb from the stairway left her breathless. He admonished himself. He hadn’t considered that det
ail of her task and rushed to assist.
He eyed the platter that she balanced. “That looks splendid.” He tried to sound more positive than he actually felt. It wasn’t his natural way.
Cantata beamed. Her pale thin arms placed the tray on the nearby table and promptly pushed the wiry strands of hair back toward the bun.
“Sit.” The command in his voice was decidedly softer. He motioned to the adjacent chair.
Grude knew she hadn’t ignored all the stares that he had cast her way, these months. He had been considering her for some time and felt it mutually brewing. She slid out a small chair across from his.
“Whoa! It’s a bit brisk out.” The cold from the chair bit her bottom and thighs. The fabric of her dress had been thinned from the years.
He laughed. “I had taken the liberty to wipe these two chairs off. The rains—” He scruffed at his chin. “The cold, however, I couldn’t manage to stave that away.” He noticed her glowing eyes form crescents—a WynSprign. But he continued, “Please enjoy.” He gestured to her tray. “I wanted to share this with you this evening. You’ve been working so hard in the kitchen; you deserve…” He broke off his words, unsure of what next to say—still gazing into the dancing orbs before him.
“Oh, that’s mighty thoughtful of you.” Quite the opposite of her singing voice, Cantata’s speaking voice grated ears. Grude recognized that fact as did anyone else who heard her speak, but it was of no matter.
She smiled, lifting an apple slice to her mouth while he poured wine. She used dainty movements even though her stomach had to be tumbling in hunger. It was in these late hours that she usually ate to her satisfaction.
It was quiet between the two of them. Too quiet. She shifted in her chair; the fabric of her clothes rustled. Grude had invited her to sit and snack with him for a reason. She waited for him to say whatever this was all about.
Grude cleared his throat and started almost as if on cue, “Cantata, I’d like to discuss my plans for the WynSprigns, and since you are a WynSprign…” He noticed how she straightened at that, as if it was an accusation. “I was hoping for your input.” Though he could sense her discomfort, her face remained deceitfully innocuous and attentive. He noticed and determined that he could read her well enough by now. “You may remember I had mentioned to you an interest I have in making their situations here better?”
“Oh yes! Of course. I just wasn’t sure that you actually meant that.” The gap between her teeth glistened with the smile.
He raised his eyebrows at her boldness but continued pleasantly, “Why yes, I do want to see that the WynSprigns are better cared for. After all, Lanico left them and after all these years I feel...responsible for them. I want to make things better,” he said again.
She took a sip of wine and edged forward in her chair to listen to his ideas. An unobjectionable smile was plastered on her ivory face. He knew she didn’t particularly care about the welfare of the WynSprigns, but he was pleased that she wasn’t outright objecting this. He appreciated that she decided to go along with this plan and remain on his good side.
“Understand that your help would lead to more positive changes…even for you as well…” He allowed his words to settle. Allow room for her mind to expand on this.
She had not only wanted to avoid being cast aside like the other WynSprigns to toil, but she dreamed of a royal chamber—nothing like the royal closet of a room she currently inhabited. If there was any way to increase her status… “Yes, Grude, of course I can help.”
“Your words are music to my ears.” Grude went on to explain how he’d like to better help the WynSprigns by feeding them better, allowing them more free time, and of course...to provide them visits from the likes of her; she’d represent Grude out on the encampments. She’d be the face, the voice of the kingdom, of her people. She’d be the marriage between the WynSprigns and the Mysra! A bridge to unite! Or at least feign unity—he didn’t say.
She was enraptured. Hanging on every word, no longer simulating a simpering interest—she was immersed in the possibility of which he spoke. Her mind immediately dazzled over the imagined possibilities.
Oh yes, he thought looking into those starry eyes, she’d love to sing for the crowd—even if it’s WynSprigns. Her grin was indeed genuine. And he knew it. That grain of hope that rested in him now sprouted, but he wouldn’t stop there. His tone grew serious, and his eyes flicked to her visible upper body. “Now, first things first. How long have you had that dress?”
She felt her cheeks flush. “Long.” Was all she said.
The cogs of Grude’s mind turned, working for something more on this. He knew just the tailors to send for. He’d make a glorious spectacle of her. Being the popular WynSprign that she is, she could praise our efforts, especially during outings among her people. He grinned darkly. Then, the better treatment for them can start. Buttering them up. By the time Lanico returns. If he returns, his fellow WynSprign subjects will have hardened against him. He hasn’t a stone to offer them, and I do.
He lifted a goblet in a toast, and she was still trying to read the mysterious expression on his face like a book that had faded ink, but she copied his movement and their glasses clinked. They dined in the moist Odana air, on crimson wine, savory herb-encrusted cheese, and sweet fruit. They dined on the gazes of one another—warming, well into the night.
Chapter 7
One of her strengths—strategy
Entering the enchanted wood after many days of travel was an incessant thrill that kept Freck and Felena on edge. These woods, for years, had been the subject of their nighttime stories. The cloak of anxiety had crawled over them. The air had the scent of familiar flora likened to the Great Mist, curiously entwined with other newer scents likely unique to the Odana.
Under the umbrella of the ancient forest the temperature was certainly cooler than they had experienced out in the open. Goosebumps prickled their skin; the young pair didn’t know if the cause was from chill or from fright. Freck and Felena, though unspoken about their thoughts, naturally grew equally anxious of these dense woods.
Freck, at least, found some comfort in having two experienced warriors guiding them, but still, could they endure and champion through the spells of a wicked Fray? Looking at Lanico secretly studying Treva from the side, it was hard to believe so. He didn’t seem a prepared warrior at the moment with his disgusting love glances.
✽✽✽
The small group entered the Odana Forest, and as Lanico promised, the leafy coverage thickened. It was dusk by the time they entered and now, hours later, it may have been late into the evening. There was still some light, but it was hard to tell. The sky was not as visible here. They understood that it was not until they reached the small clearing that was Greta’s home, would they be able to observe such things as stars and the moon.
Their eyes responded in the dark, glowing softly, moving at the smooth strides of their mounts. The horses hadn’t strolled in the river in some time. Lanico’s concern over tracking diminished some time ago. The horses’ steps were now a soft thudding on the ground instead of light splashes over course gravel. Had it been in any other place, under any other circumstance, it would have been hard to stay awake. It was almost calming—almost.
The distant sound of ringing and clashing metal carried and instantly arrested Lanico and Treva’s focus. Treva whirled to Lanico. The golden glow of her eyes widened. Lanico’s cyan eyes held the same level of alert. “Stay here,” he ordered her and the two warriors. “Yah!” Lanico’s command echoed against the trees. His horse snorted, but it was two mounts that bolted through the woods. He and Treva tore off as streaks before the gaping pair.
There was no mistaking the grunts of her horse just behind. Lanico halfway expected Treva to join him regardless of his order. He knew she wasn’t about to have him fight alone—knowing there could always be more than a few Mysra. For they usually traversed in groups. Choosing his battles carefully, he wouldn’t criticize her for her decision.
More importantly in the moment, he had to be careful guiding his horse away from approaching trees that, at this speed, seemingly sprang up before them.
The sounds of swords clashing grew louder as the young pair drew near, in the wake of Treva and Lanico. Their hearts hammered. Spooked with excitement, Felena’s horse bayed before picking up its pace to tear off. Freck’s heartbeat skipped seeing her careen past. Felena whimpered at the change and her fingers fumbled at the reins. Freck, not wasting any time, commanded his horse to a decent gallop, aiming to edge his horse in closer to hers, dodging the trees and brush along the way. Leaning, he tried reaching for her reins. White knuckled, she clutched them with a death grip. Their horses were now side by side, grunting in ragged unison. Freck carefully balanced, edging toward Felena. She was petrified, unable to look sideways at him. Her stare was straight ahead at a massive tree they were closing in on fast. “Give me—” his voice a growl, straining to reach. She blinked. “Felena—the reins!” He managed.
The Legacy of Lanico: Return of the Son: Book two of the Legacy of Lanico series Page 6
