The Drinnglennin Chronicles Omnibus

by K. C. Julius

  Numbly, Maura obeyed, all the while wishing she could vanish into thin air. Never had she felt so mortified. To make matters worse, as they turned down a small lane toward the river, she felt the prick of tears, and a sob escaped her. She accepted a surprisingly clean handkerchief from her escort, into which she blew her nose resoundingly.

  Once she’d gotten herself under control, she ventured a sidelong glance at her silent companion. He returned it levelly, and she was grateful to see his expression held neither pity nor amusement.

  “You have kind eyes,” she snuffled, and then blushed furiously as she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. She wished she could drop through the cobblestones at her feet.

  Borne made no response, and Maura began to hope against hope that he hadn’t heard her. She was now acutely aware of his firm grip on her elbow as they resumed walking down the lane.

  He released her before an arched wooden door. Extracting a key from his pocket, he unlocked the portal and swung it wide.

  Maura gave a small cry of pleasure. Beyond the threshold, a riot of blossoms—ranging from deep plums and crimsons to paler shades of pink and pearl—sprang up around a tiered circular fountain in the middle of a charming garden. The fountain’s upper levels were shaped like lily pads and crowned by a fanciful stone maiden with the tail of a fish. Tinkling water spilled from the vase she held into the lower pool.

  “Oh, how enchanting!” Maura said, irresistibly drawn into the pretty courtyard. “What are these called?” She ran her fingers across the velvet burgundy petals of a blossom.

  “Hellebores,” said Borne. “They come originally from Ikenholm in southern Helgrinia. These were brought over from Gral, where they also grow wild.”

  “Hellebores,” Maura echoed. She moved slowly around the fountain and paused to press her nose into a delicate yellow flower. “Mmmm,” she sighed. “Such a sweet fragrance!”

  Borne chuckled. “They’re not all as pleasant. Sniff that green one over there.”

  Obligingly, Maura bent over it and inhaled. “Oh!” she said, recoiling. “That one is really quite… pungent.”

  The young man folded his arms and leaned against the door, which was now closed behind him. “Smells like coilhorn dung, wouldn’t you say?”

  Maura laughed. Then remembering what had brought her to this pleasant garden, she said, “I… thank you, for…”

  Borne pushed away from the wall, and she felt a thrill of alarm as she took in his broad shoulders and the lines of his muscular arms. She was suddenly aware that they were very much alone. But the young man merely sauntered over to a curving stone bench, sat down, and patted the place beside him in a clear invitation.

  “I… I really should be getting back,” Maura said.

  “As should I,” replied Borne. “Only sit a few moments here and enjoy the garden with me. It’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure of sharing it with anyone besides Ol’ Hep.”

  “Ol’ Hep?”

  Borne gave her a quizzical look. “You don’t come down off the mountain often, do you? Everyone in Branley Tor knows Sir Heptorious of Windend, valiant knight and former comrade-at arms of King Urlion. He served in the Second Expedition to Nedergwlad over the Erolin Sea, and was among the forces that kept the Helgrins from our shores in the Battle of Wellberwick.”

  Maura flushed. “Well, of course I know who Sir Heptorious is! I’ve just never heard him referred to as Ol’ Hep.” Sudden realization dawned. “Does this garden belong to him?” Her pulse quickened as she considered being charged with trespassing after just narrowly escaping being named a thief. “But then we shouldn’t be here!”

  Borne stretched his long legs out before him. “I have leave to be here,” he replied, “and you’re my guest.” He fished in the pocket of his cloak, pulled out the key, and dangled it before her. “Remember? I have this.”

  “Yes,” said Maura, inching away from him, “but how did you come by it?”

  Borne looked regretful. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you? I save you from being tossed into gaol, and now you’re suspecting me of pilfering and of having designs on your virtue.” Before Maura could think of how to reply, he said, “Now don’t deny it. I can see you edging toward the door.” He assumed a doleful expression.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and felt she should mean it. “I surely didn’t intend to hurt your feelings.”

  Borne flashed his dimples, looking suddenly quite harmless. “Then come! Sit with me awhile. I swear on the goddesses’ honor, I’ll not give you cause for regret.” He patted the stone bench once more.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Maura perched on the far end of the bench. “I can only stay a few moments,” she said.

  “Quite gracious of you, my lady.”

  Maura shot him a sharp look, but his eyes were trained on the fountain playing before them, and she followed his gaze. The tumbling water soothed her frazzled nerves, and they sat for a while in companionable silence.

  Then Borne said, “You mustn’t take to heart anything Yalinda Tribbly says, you know. She was born ugly-minded, gods save her, with a toad on her tongue. And as for Gammiline Claine, it’s common knowledge she was dropped on her head, more than once I might add, as a wee child. She can’t help it that utter inanities flow past her lips like piss from a bred cow.”

  Maura giggled at this, although her cheeks burned when she recalled the uncharitable remarks the two women had made.

  “As to how I came by the key to this enchanted place. Sir Heptorious gave it me himself. I keep the weeds from taking over and make sure the garden is prepared for each season. In return, I’ve leave to enjoy it whenever I like. I’m the baron’s ward”—Maura heard a slight defensiveness creep into his tone—“but I do this for my own pleasure, not because he demands it of me.” Borne reached out and plucked a wilted bloom from among the flowers. “This will be the last fortnight for these beauties before they must be put to bed.”

  “They’re certainly a hardy sort to blossom so late in the year,” said Maura. “I’ve never seen flowers in December.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, breathing in their fragrance.

  Then the aroma was replaced by the scent of mint, and she felt a soft brushing against her lips. Borne had pressed his own lightly against them.

  Maura leapt up in dismay. “How dare you?” she cried. “You swore on the goddesses!”

  Borne laughed. “I swore I’d do nothing to give you cause for regret, and surely one kiss has no power to do so. I make no demands for more. Unless…” he added teasingly, “you choose to bestow it. You see, I was merely being polite. Your rosy lips issued me an invitation I felt obliged to accept.”

  “My lips did nothing of the kind!” Maura retorted hotly. “Now if you please, I’ll take my leave!” She strode to the door, jerked it open, and swept out to the lane heading back to the square.

  By the time she passed the Coilhorn and Bell, she was practically running. She clambered up onto their cart and snatched up the reins. With an impatient cluck, she got the coilhorns moving toward the mountain road leading back to Fernsehn.

  She didn’t spare a glance for the young man staring after her across the square, a piece of overpriced lace clutched in his hand.

  Chapter 11

  Maura usually took pleasure in the ascending hills on the road home, with their verdant carpets of grass fringed with soaring firs. But that afternoon she passed the valley farmhouses and pastures heedless of their charm, her heart still pounding with anger.

  “Polite, Alithin’s Eye!” she fumed, recalling Borne’s defense of his stolen kiss. Still, it had been her first, and she couldn’t help but remember how soft and yet firm his lips had felt against hers.

  She thrust the thought away, clinging to her ire. The fellow was impudent, and not someone she ever cared to see again! The image of Borne smiling cheekily, his long leg
s stretched before him, caused her to snap the reins a bit too fiercely, and the coilhorns cantered forward in alarm. “Easy now,” she soothed, drawing back on their traces.

  Before she knew it, they were winding up the broad track leading to the farm. She drove the wagon directly to the stables, and Uli, one of the farmhands, came over to unharness the coilhorns. She was about to gather up their purchases when the sound of singing brought her up short.

  It was her mother, crooning a lullaby she’d often sung to Dal when he was small. “So, she sings again,” muttered Maura, and suddenly her pent-up fury found its target. She set down her bundles and leapt from the wagon. Marching to the manor door, she flung it wide.

  Her mother looked up in surprise from her chair by the hearth. The spinning wheel before her slowed, her foot pausing on the treadle, and the twist of yarn she held in her hands went slack.

  “By the gods, Maura,” she admonished. “Are Blearc’s hounds nipping at your heels?” She looked past Maura into the fading light beyond. “Where’s your father?”

  For a moment, Maura’s wrath nearly prompted her to fly at her mother, so hot was her blood. “Papa’s still in the village,” she replied in a tight voice, “with friends with whom he can forget his sorrow for a spell.” She stepped inside and closed the door, hard, behind her. “I heard you singing just now.” She meant it to sound like the accusation it was. “Why don’t you grieve for your son?”

  “Maura, of course I—”

  “No!” Maura shouted, silencing her mother with an angry slash at the air, as though to sweep away her false words. “No more lies! It’s time you tell me the truth—the whole truth, or I swear by Alithin, I’ll tell Papa everything I saw at the pool!”

  Maura steeled herself for a stern reprimand and more denials, but instead her mother’s shoulders dropped—as though relieved of a weighty burden.

  “You’re right, daughter,” she said. “It’s time to tell you what you need—and deserve—to know. Although I fear in the telling, it will break whatever bonds we share.”

  Maura felt a sudden foreboding. “Go on, then,” she said.

  Mother drew a deep breath. “Very well. First of all, I’m not indifferent to the loss of our Dal, but I am… different. So are you. You’re more like me than you perhaps care to believe.” A small smile curled her lips, and as quickly faded. “And so, no, I don’t grieve for your brother in the same way as Papa does—and neither do you.”

  Maura nodded stiffly, acknowledging the truth in this.

  “You had best sit, daughter,” said her mother, “as mine is a long story, and you’ll need to hear it all to truly understand, as best you can.”

  She waited in silence until Maura settled across from her.

  “Before I begin, I must have your word you won’t tell Papa what I’m about to share with you. If he should learn of it, his fate will be an early grave.” Her lustrous eyes held Maura’s intently. “Swear it, daughter.”

  The echo of Maura’s own voice making the same demand of the Lurker sent a chill down her spine. “I swear,” she said.

  Mother leaned back in her chair. “I don’t grieve for Dal,” she said, “because unlike you and Papa, I’ve known since the day of his birth that he wouldn’t always be with us.”

  It felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. “What… what do you mean?”

  Her mother began her story, and her words sounded rehearsed, as if they had waited long years for release. “I was born in Tyrrin-on-Murr. My mother’s name was Selena, and I grew up in the care of my stepfather and her.”

  “Grandfather Zed was your stepfather?” Maura knew her mother had been orphaned when a ghost ship brought disease to the port of Tyrrin-on-Murr, but this was the first she’d ever heard that Zed was not her natural grandfather.

  Mother gazed at the yarn wrapped around her hands, but it was as if she were seeing something far beyond. “What you don’t know was that my mother was of the å Livåri. She grew up in the forests of the northern kingdoms, and only left her people because she fell in love with a duin ar tal.”

  Maura frowned. “Her… people?”

  A bitter smile curved her mother’s lips. “The å Livåri came across the Erolin Sea centuries ago, but have never been accepted as true Drinnglennians. They’re a proud folk, but hard times have forced some of them to resort to… less than honorable ways of supporting themselves. Still, it’s a rare occasion when one of them leaves the community to dwell among the duin ar tal. My mother was one of these.

  “My stepfather was a woodsman in the employ of Lord DuBleres of Tyrrencaster. One day, a violent storm swept through the Grolin Forest where he served. Many trees came down in the high winds, and Zed was trapped beneath one of them. My mother found him, and brought him back to her family to recover from his wounds. This was only allowed because Zed was known to them. He had come across their camp on a few occasions and never reported their presence to Lord DuBleres. In any event, it’s likely he would have died in the forest without the å Livåri’s help.

  “My mother tended Zed for many days, and during this time, he fell in in love with her. She was likewise smitten by the handsome and gentle duin ar tal. When he begged her to come away with him, she agreed. What she neglected to tell Zed was that she was already pledged to another of her own people. This man’s name was Tobar, and at the time he was in the south, seeking suitable campgrounds for the winter.”

  Maura could no longer conceal her fascination with her mother’s tale. “I’ve never heard of these å Livåri. Who are they?”

  “You know them by another name,” said Mother, a flash of defiance lighting her eyes. “Many call them Lurkers.”

  “Lurkers!” Maura cried. “But they’re… they’re thieves and rushers and…” Her voice trailed off as she recalled the shell of a man she had tended just a few weeks before.

  Her mother regarded her steadily. “Not all of them, daughter. It’s true that the å Livåri have a different concept of ownership when it comes to things of the earth, like wild creatures and land, so they don’t regard a forest as belonging to anyone, prince or peasant. But only some of those who leave the community become slaves to crennin. You know nothing about these people, and I little more, for I wasn’t raised among them. Now—do you want me to finish my story or not?”

  Maura sank back against the hard rails of her chair.

  “My mother had thought she would be happy with Tobar, and she had even lain with him. But when she met Zed, she discovered what true love was, and so when he was well enough to return to his own people, she went with him. She did this without telling her parents, for she was sure they would forbid it. And what only she knew was that she was already carrying a child in her womb. Tobar’s child.

  “When Tobar returned and found her gone, he tracked her down. He threatened to kill both her and her new lover. She was able to convince him to spare their lives by telling him that she would soon bear his child. When the elders learned of this, they became involved. My mother had already been banished, and an honor killing of a duin ar tal would only spell disaster for their community. So they convinced my father to accept a compromise. If the child were a son, my mother would relinquish him to Tobar when he reached the age of twelve. If a daughter was born to them, my mother could keep her. My mother agreed, and prayed that the babe she carried was a girl. I was the answer to those prayers.”

  “So that was the end of it?” asked Maura.

  Her mother dropped her gaze to her hands. “My mother and stepfather died of the plague when I was seven. After I buried them, I had no one to turn to. Even if I had wanted to go to my mother’s people, they had migrated south for the winter, and Zed had no living family in Tyrrin-on-Murr. I would have been sent to a workhouse had I not been taken into service by Sir Drenen Forl, a vassal of Lord DuBleres. Sir Drenen had an old manor called Meadowbrook Hall. The work was hard
, but I had two meals a day and a sheltered pallet upon which to sleep, although the fog along the coast seeps into one’s bones in the winter months no matter how thick your coverlet.” She rubbed the soft yarn between her slender fingers. “How I would have longed for a lapin quilt, had I known then of their existence.”

  Maura stared at her mother in disbelief. It was impossible to imagine this proud woman as a servant child shivering under a thin blanket.

  “It was in Sir Drenen’s household some years later that I met your father.”

  “So the story you and Papa tell about meeting at the Sommerfest isn’t true?” Maura cried.

  Mother sighed. “Yes, it’s true. I met Cormac Trok when I was only a few years older than you are now. He had come to Tyrrin-on-Murr with his father, who had business there. He refused to return here without me, and so within a fortnight we were wed.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Maura. She felt a nameless dread stir within her. Rooted in her chair, she realized she had never really known the woman sitting opposite her.

  “This will be the hardest part for you to bear, my daughter,” said Mother, her voice so low that Maura had to strain to hear it. “When I was seventeen, a great lord came to visit Sir Drenen and Lady Harrien. I watched him ride his fine charger through the chateau gates, clad all in crimson, his hair as black as a raven’s wing, his guard clattering before and behind him. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, and he lit up any space he occupied like dawn’s rise.

  “By this time, I had found favor with my lady, and was one of her maids-in-waiting. At meals, I no longer ate in the kitchens with the other servants, but sat in the hall at a table below Lady Harrien, to be at her beck and call. It was there that the visiting lord’s eye fell upon me, and soon after, he came to seek me out. He found me in the gardens, where I often collected flowers for my mistress’s chambers. He was so very charming, and my foolish heart was easily conquered.”