Paladin's Prize

by Gaelen Foley

  “Easy,” his father murmured, but Thaydor shook his head and sat down on a nearby bench, overwhelmed.

  He was able to keep his emotions at bay when various officials, strangers, needed him for the endless range of tasks and decisions to be made every day. But with those who knew him best, those who could take one look at him and see how much pain he was in, it was hard to keep up the act. He was frankly falling apart and didn’t care to live if his beloved died.

  With a downward stare, he braced his elbow on the table beside his chair and held his head in his hand for a moment, struggling for his composure. His father gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze and stood in position to block him from view in case anyone came along who should not see their king teetering on the edge of despair.

  “Be strong now, boy.”

  “She’s everything,” he wrenched out.

  “I know. Get up, son. They’re coming.”

  “Clank?” a pert voice burst in on them.

  He quickly hid his heartbreak as best he could and rose as his sister came running into the great hall, lovely as ever, but woefully lacking in decorum, despite her being seventeen and of age to be making her debut.

  Typical.

  “Thimble.” He smiled, cleared his throat, clapped his father on the shoulder in thanks, and stepped around him, ready to continue with the charade. All flying blond tresses and whooshing skirts, the exuberant Lady Ingrid Clarenbeld raced to him and launched herself into his arms.

  He lifted her off her feet with a big hug. As soon as he set her down again, she stepped back and beamed with sisterly pride. “Look at you, all kingy-like!” she teased. “Dressed properly for once, too. Nice tunic, King Clank!”

  He gave her a droll look.

  Her blue eyes danced. “But where’s your crown, brother?”

  “I don’t get it until the coronation.”

  “Oh. Do I get a tiara?” she asked with sudden eagerness. “After all, I am the only sister of the monarch. Does this mean I’m a princess now? Another thing—if I give you ideas for laws, will you pass them? Because I have a few ideas.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He laughed at her question and hooked his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve missed you, little hoyden. How’ve you been?”

  “Not bad. Bored as usual. But finally, something interesting has happened!”

  “I guess you could say that. Are you getting on with the du Meres?” he murmured, looking askance at her.

  “Oh, Juliana and I have become great friends. But her mother…sweet heaven, how she nitpicks!” she whispered with vehemence.

  Thaydor arched a brow but did not disagree.

  “The Building Baron’s very jolly. He and Father talk on and on for hours like they’ve known each other for years. Lord du Mere has made a few suggestions about improvements to the castle. Did you know the foundations of the north tower are cracked?”

  “Really?” Thaydor asked in surprise. “So that’s why it leans.”

  “He says he can fix it. For free. Which obviously means a great deal to Father. You know what a cheapskate he is.”

  “Am not!” the earl retorted, overhearing.

  “Yes, you are, Papa.”

  “Why, because I won’t buy you the moon?” he muttered.

  Thaydor hugged his sister again, already cheered up a little in spite of himself. “How I’ve missed your prattle.”

  She pushed him away with a scowl. “Excuse me, but I don’t prattle! I say very important things. You should heed them!” She punched him lightly in the arm.

  “Sorry. Of course,” he said. “Don’t mind me. I’m a little off these days.”

  “Oh, I know, my poor, dear brother.” Ingrid gazed up at him in sympathy, then caressed his arm. “The du Meres are all beside themselves, as well. But I keep telling them, have faith, she’ll be all right. I mean, she has to be! I haven’t even got a chance to meet her yet. Don’t worry, Thaydor. Ilios listens to you and I’m sure you’re praying for her, just like the rest of us are.”

  He kissed her on the head. “Thanks.”

  “But in the meanwhile, just remember one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  She pulled back with another pert smile and poked him in the chest. “You may be the king now, but you still can’t tell me what to do.”

  He smiled ruefully. “I’m not naive enough to hope for that. Just try not to call me Clank it front of the Earls’ Assembly, if you don’t mind?”

  “Hmm, blackmail,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Thaydor tugged a lock of her golden hair with affection, then moved past her as his in-laws presently arrived under the tall, arched doorway of the great hall.

  He instantly saw that Wrynne’s mother looked a wreck.

  “Where is my daughter?” Lady du Mere demanded, marching down the narrow red carpet toward him. “I must go to her at once.”

  “My lady.” Thaydor bowed to his mother-in-law, and offered a handshake to the fat, ruddy-cheeked baron, whose portly jowls were pushed upward by the small ruff around his neck.

  “Your Majesty,” the baron said, unable to mask his delight at calling his own son-in-law that.

  “No need to stand on ceremony, please. You are all most welcome,” Thaydor added, nodding to Wrynne’s three worried siblings as well.

  Her mother started right in, shaking her head at him. “You’re her husband. How could you let this happen to her?”

  “Mother!” Juliana exclaimed, rather horrified.

  Lady du Mere pursed her lips and continued glaring at Thaydor. “I want to go to her. Where is she?”

  “Wrynne is at the Bastion. But I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

  “Of course it is! I am her mother. She needs me!”

  “Wrynne is not herself right now, my lady. The smallest things can send her into a rage.”

  “Saint Wrynne? Rage?” her sister uttered.

  “I don’t think she’d want her family seeing her in her current condition.”

  “Well, I don’t care what she wants. I am her mother, and I am entitled to see my daughter for myself! I’ve tended her in illness since she was a babe, and I’m warning you—”

  “Enough, woman!” the baron broke in. “If that’s what her doctors say, we have to listen.”

  He shook his beefy head at Thaydor in exasperation.

  “I have an idea!” Ingrid spoke up brightly. “Perhaps we all could take a tour of the royal palace. Wouldn’t that be interesting?”

  “Yes! Mother, that’s a fine idea, isn’t it?” Juliana seconded, taking the frowning baroness’s arm.

  Thaydor sent his sister a meaningful glance. Thank you.

  You owe me, she mouthed back. Then she skipped over to the royal chamberlain and sweet-talked him into taking them on a tour of Lionsclaw Keep.

  “You want me to stay here or go with them?” Lord Clarenbeld asked.

  But before Thaydor could answer his father, Novus Blacktwist came striding into the great hall, brushing off the footmen by the door.

  Thaydor turned to him, forgetting all else. “What news?”

  “I’ve got something.” He had been working round the clock and it showed. The dark circles under his pale eyes came from more than just the kohl liner around them, now smeared with sweat after hours in his laboratory. Dispensing with all court propriety, he strode into the throne room with his black leather gambeson unlaced partway down his chest, the sleeves removed, exposing the esoteric tattoos twining all down his arms.

  Lady De Mere, on her way to the palace tour, huffed in disapproval at the wild and dangerous-looking fellow as he passed them in the doorway, but both young girls turned to stare.

  Novus ignored them all, no doubt used to such reactions. His black boot heels pounded out an urgent rhythm as he marched in carrying a small vial of bright green liquid. “I ran my final tests on Eudo last night right before he—er, well, died. Sorry.”

  “You killed him?”

 
“Of course not,” he said as he joined him, then lowered his voice. “The fire thistle poison must have run its course, but I was close. If I had got to him sooner, maybe…but he was already too far gone.”

  Thaydor felt himself turn white at the implications. So, the firechoke venom was indeed a death sentence.

  Novus read the dread in his face. “No. Listen to me. Your wife is young and strong, and we caught it right away. Eudo was an old man and had it in his system for a year. She has only been infected for eight days. This should do the trick.”

  “Should?” Thaydor studied the Oktean sorcerer intensely, weighing the question now that it came down to it: did he trust him with Wrynne’s life?

  Damn it. He hated the situation he was in. The greatest warrior in the land—the very king—powerless to save his own lady. Instead, he had to rely on this enigmatic servant of the Dark One.

  Novus held his searching stare matter-of-factly.

  “If it were your wife—” Thaydor started.

  “I would pour this down her throat, whatever it took.” Novus tilted his head, striving for patience. “I understand your hesitation, believe me. We are different, you and I. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together. You have to trust me. I am trying to help you here. I don’t want to see this kingdom turn to madness.”

  “I know you are acting in good faith. It’s just…”

  “She means the world to you,” Novus said. “I understand. I loved once, myself. Unfortunately, our window of opportunity is closing. I interviewed Eudo’s whole staff in depth. Several of them gave independent confirmation that there was a marked turn in Eudo’s condition about ten days after his return from Silvermount. They remembered because it was one of those feast days when Efrena becomes a man,” he added. “Anyway, based on my research, I strongly suspect that this ten-day window represents some kind of turning point…beyond which, I’m not sure there’s any coming back. We are nearing that threshold with your wife. We have to give this to her as soon as possible. I’ve already run all the tests on it I can think of. But time is running out. She needs to drink it.”

  Thaydor shuddered at the thought of losing her permanently. “Very well. So that’s all? I make sure she swallows this, and then I get my wife back?”

  Novus nodded. “The sooner the better.”

  Reynulf had just walked in and heard the tail end of their exchange. “Hecaterus is already saddled; I can ride now. Do you want me to take it to the Bastion and have the monks administer the medicine?”

  “No,” Thaydor answered, glancing around at them. He clapped Novus on the back in wordless thanks. “I’ll take it to her myself. I want this done as gently as possible. She’s already been through so much. She’s not going to like it. If she has to be forced to swallow it, then it should be by my hand.”

  “Be careful around her,” Novus reminded him.

  “She won’t hurt me.” No matter what anyone said, Thaydor could not bring himself to believe she would try. Not after all they’d shared. His face set with grim resolve, he strode out of the great hall, carrying the precious vial of potion.

  “Saddle Avalanche!” he barked at the palace staff, and the whole flock of them scattered into motion to convey this message to the royal stables before he got there.

  “Where are you going, brother?” Ingrid asked as he marched past their families, whose dawdling on the tour had only got them as far as the anteroom.

  He didn’t answer the question. “Pray this works,” was all he said as he gusted out the door.

  “Honestly! Where does he think he’s off to?” he heard his mother-in-law complain in his wake. “Doesn’t he know he’s the king now? He just goes barreling off as if he’s still a knight errant out to slay some dragon!”

  Thaydor paid her no mind.

  Within minutes, he was on his horse, the potion safely tucked into his breast pocket. He urged Avalanche into a gallop and rode hell for leather to the Bastion.

  It was time to claim his queen.

  * * *

  “You have a visitor, Your Majesty,” Mother Superior said kindly, opening her chamber door.

  Wrynne rose and stared at the tall blond man who stepped into the room. Finally.

  A smile curved her lips, but not because she had missed him.

  I am going to enjoy this.

  “Thaydor.”

  For a second, as he met her gaze, his blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. “My darling,” he answered in a strangled tone.

  Why, her warrior-king looked quite distraught at their little reunion, but Wrynne was wintry cold.

  His tousled, sun-streaked hair and wind-kissed cheeks belied the haste with which he’d ridden here. But for what purpose? she wondered as she watched him guardedly, folding her arms across her chest. What perfidy was he scheming now?

  While Mother Superior withdrew and pulled the door shut to leave them in privacy, Wrynne kept her distance on the far side of the room.

  “So. You finally show your face after abandoning me.” She paused. “What do you want?”

  Thaydor swallowed hard and took a step toward her. “Novus found a cure. You have to drink this.”

  He held up a vial of some ghastly green liquid, and everything in her recoiled at the sight of it.

  “Not bloody likely.” She backed toward the wall, keeping her canopy bed between them. “You think I don’t know how much you hate me? You have a lot of nerve coming here, paladin,” she spat.

  His lips parted with an intake of breath at her cutting tone. Then he lowered his gaze as though reminding himself to be patient.

  Because, of course, Thaydor was all that was good and kind and virtuous, she thought with a sneer.

  He gazed at her again. Like a wounded pup. “You’re everything to me, Wrynne. That’s why I’m here. I love you. I need my wife back. I don’t want to play any games; I don’t want to have to trick you or restrain you. Please just drink this. Trust me.”

  “Why in the world should I do that?”

  He looked baffled by the question, obvious as it was to her.

  “What?” she taunted, enjoying his confusion. “Don’t try to look innocent. You’re the one who had me locked up in this cage. I’d rather be in here alone than with you, anyway.” She turned her back to him, gazing out the window with a bitter sulk.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said softly, painfully.

  “Did you bring Reynulf?” she taunted with a coy, wicked glance over her shoulder.

  She caught the flicker of wrath in his gaze before it dropped to the floor. “No.”

  “Too bad. He’s not boring like you. Or a pompous hypocrite. Or naive.” She was enjoying hurting him, pounding on his very heart with her words like some crazed Urmugoth with a mace, battering him in his armor.

  Only, he had no armor when it came to her, she knew full well. No defenses. How she enjoyed that. The power it gave her.

  She was the one dragon he could not slay.

  “I wish I never married you,” she said, enjoying how he faltered at the words.

  He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, and, in his eyes, she could almost see him mentally resolving to forgive her with his sheer, maddening, unconditional love.

  It only made her hate him all the more.

  “Who do you think you are?” she screamed.

  He ignored her raging and lifted the vial toward her. “Come drink this, sweeting.”

  “Why don’t you make me?” she countered coldly.

  “Please. I don’t want to be rough with you or force you. I’m never giving up on you, Wrynne.”

  “Oh, look at the king beg.”

  “Please,” he whispered again, shamelessly. “I love you. Nothing’s going to change that, no matter what you do.”

  Now it was her turn to flinch as though he had smote her with the flat of his famous sword. Only teaching her a lesson so far. But those sweet words stung her skin as though he had doused her in acid.

  His
stare glowed like a blue, celestial beam of light pouring out from Elysium. Pouring out from the sweetness of his breaking heart. For, oh yes, she knew his secret. The one the rest of the world had never guessed. The firechoke had showed it to her.

  It was Thaydor’s love that made him mighty.

  His love for his god, his family, his country. His love for the people and all the little children, like those who had flocked to him instinctively the day they had visited the plundered village. His willingness to lay down his life for them if necessary, without blinking an eye. His devotion to all that was beautiful and righteous and good.

  And his love, most of all, for her.

  She shrank from him, suddenly unsure if there was enough hate in Hell to overcome the likes of him. His Light shone so brightly it nigh blinded her.

  “Come back to me, Wrynne,” he insisted with soft implacability. “Drink your medicine of your own free will, and show me you at least want to get well.”

  “Stay away from me! I hate you!”

  His face hardened. “Then you leave me no choice.”

  He seemed to fill the room then with his sheer determination. She had rejected the lover, and so now she would have to deal with the large, angry knight.

  He crossed the chamber in a few strides until she was driven back against the writing desk, with nowhere left to flee.

  “Let go of me, you brute! Help! Jonty! Brother Piero!”

  “Scream all you want, love. Your king ordered everyone to stay away, no matter what they heard.”

  She looked at him in dread.

  And indeed, nobody even peeked in. Of course, it was partly her own fault. She had already used the trick of crying wolf on her keepers in her endless attempts to escape before she had given up and laid her trap for him instead.

  Looming over her, Thaydor captured her and held her fast against his chest, his left arm clamped around her waist. With his right hand, he caught hold of her face. “Open your mouth for me. Come on!”

  She refused, sealing her jaw shut and glaring at him as she continued trying to push him away. She might as well have shoved a mountain.