by K. C. Julius
It was Urlion’s grandfather, King Gregor, who had first granted the å Livåri asylum when he ascended the High Throne as a boy. The å Livåri were fleeing persecution on the continent, and King Gregor welcomed them to Drinnglennin. In those days, the Isle was a bastion of tolerance—not just for the å Livåri, but for wizards and sorceresses as well. Gregor the Good, as he was called, was a visionary and a learned man. Some said he spent much time in his younger days among magical folk.
But since that time, circumstances and attitudes had changed. Gregor’s successors had not been so ardent in fostering his ideals. These days, ignorant folk associated å Livåri with crennin, to which those who left their families sometimes fell victim, and blamed them for missing livestock or pilfered stores. But those lost souls were nothing like the å Livåri Halla had come to know. They were proud folk, lovers of stirring music and dance, artisans of fine metalwork and indulgers in good living.
It always made Halla laugh to think of her first-ever meeting with Bria and Florian, who had shown her the true nature of their people. The three of them had met by chance, when Halla had surprised the sister and brother in the act of poaching the lord of Lorendale’s rabbits. Calling them thieves, she had not been surprised when Florian fled. Bria, however, stood her ground, glaring at Halla, even with two leverets slung over her shoulder. When the å Livåri girl dared to reach for her stave, Halla dropped from her mount and raised her own in angry response.
The bout that followed left them with numb arms and a mutual respect. By the time Florian crept back, he found them sitting, long black braids beside mandarin tresses, bent close in conversation. In each other, they had found a kindred spirit. The two girls were the same age, and Bria was fiercely independent, with a quick, lively wit.
Visiting her new friends often after that, Halla came to view the forest, as they did, as a continual source of adventure. The three of them spent much of their time together challenging one another—to dive from the highest rock, to be the first into a mysterious cave, or to test the strength of a vine dangling from a branch. They discovered a massive granite wall they dubbed Gothar’s Chimney that Halla loved to climb, seeking new handholds each time to keep the thrill alive. After a few years, Bria was content to watch while Florian and Halla raced each other up the rock face; Halla was almost always first to the top.
Halla reveled in the new world she had discovered, and whole-heartedly embraced its inhabitants’ free-living ways. She acquired a taste for the honeyed berry wines her friends pressed upon her, and delighted in their haunting music. When Ruv struck up his lavuta, it was as though he captured the soul of the forest. As the melody threaded its wild voice around them, Bria would pull her to her feet and join her fingers with those of Florian. Together they would whirl and spin like spiders weaving their webs until their breath was spent.
Most of the å Livåri dances were wild and frankly sexual. The women shimmied their breasts, their multitudinous necklaces swaying, and the men circled their partners like swaggering cocks, slapping their thighs, snapping their fingers, whistling and yipping. Halla was shocked at first, but grew to envy the earthiness at the core of these peoples’ lives, and to further rue the constraints of her own.
It was Florian who taught her the intricacies of the churi, an ancient warrior’s dance that involved tossing dangerously sharp knives back and forth with increasing speed. The dance ended only when one performer was bold enough to dart forward and knock his partner to the ground. The vanquished dancer would lie as if slain, while the victor circled with both knives uplifted, strutting in triumph. After his due applause, the winner would lay the crossed knives upon the loser’s chest and kiss his brow—then raise him, as it were, from the dead. After this they would dance together once more, to pounding drums and the singing strings of the lavuta.
Halla smiled when she remembered the stunned look on Florian’s face the first time she succeeded in felling him. Bria’s brother was a quiet lad who preferring listening to speaking, but when he did offer a comment or opinion, she sensed that even the elders took note. He had the fierce beauty of a hawk, and Bria was always quick to note when Halla’s eyes lingered on his chiseled features. She would waggle her ring-laden fingers at Halla, her wrists a-jangle with silver bands, and make boldly suggestive comments that made Halla blush. His extreme good looks were hard to ignore, and Halla had felt her heart skip a beat on more than one occasion when he was close to her. Most of the time though, she was easy in his company.
She marveled at how readily she had been accepted as one of these people, for the å Livåri had every reason to avoid contact with gajo. On the continent, the å Livåri had been reviled for centuries, sometimes even hunted like animals for sport. The Purge had effectively killed off any of them who had not fled before it. And although they had once found sanctuary in Drinnglennin, it seemed that their accepted standing was now on tenuous ground. This was particularly true in areas where the extreme weather had affected crop yields. In Karan-Rhad, some fool had claimed that an å Livåri curse was behind the flooding there, and the falsehood had spread like wildfire.
As a result, the å Livåri stayed far from the cities. Some even felt the gajo were deliberately conspiring to harm them—luring their young boys to fall victim to crennin.
When Halla once asked her friend why they’d made an exception for her, Bria tossed her braids with a laugh. “Because I knew as soon as we met that you were my åthinoi. And so I was allowed to claim you.”
“Your what?” said Halla.
“My åthinoi? It means you’re my sister spirit. We only have one in this world, and it is rare to find him or her. You are mine.”
Halla blinked. “I’m… I’m honored… but how did you know this of me?”
Bria shrugged. “I felt it that first time, while we were clashing away with our staves. And it was so.”
* * *
Now as Halla led the jennet down the mossy decline, Bria and Florian appeared from the trees at the bottom of the ravine. Dragging her mount behind her, Halla raced forward into her friend’s embrace.
Bria laughed as they collided. “Such a warm greeting! I thought you might reserve that for my brother!” She winked and cast a sly grin at Florian, but her smile faded when she saw Halla’s face. “What’s wrong, åthinoi? Is it your father’s passing that grieves you?” She drew Halla down beside her on the cushioned ground.
“No,” replied Halla, suddenly struggling to keep her composure. “Well, yes… but not only that. It’s just as bad, in a way, as it’s another kind of death—my own.”
And then, relieved to have, at last, a sympathetic audience, Halla poured out all her anger and frustration over the commandeering of her future. Of course, she knew Bria’s perspective was altogether different on this matter. Like many å Livåri girls, she’d married at the age of thirteen. Her husband, Ilie, was a year her senior. Whenever they were together, the young couple kept up a stream of mocking banter, but it was clear to Halla that Ilie doted on his bride, and Bria privately shared her delight in her husband’s prowess in bed. “Ilie is my stallion,” she once declared with a giggle, “and I the happy rider!” But Halla had spoken to her friend often of her dreams to see the world and seek adventure. Bria knew that marriage was the last thing on her mind.
“Ah, my åthinoi,” she said after Halla had poured out her heart. “It grieves me to see you this way.” Then suddenly, she seized both of Halla’s hands in hers. “Come away with us!” she cried. “If you don’t want this wedding—escape it!”
The travelers, Halla knew, would soon be pulling up stakes and moving south for the winter months. They’d tarried longer than usual, for with Lord Valen’s death, the autumnal hunting parties had been canceled and they’d been left in peace in the forest.
“Bria…” Florian said. It was the first word he’d spoken since Halla’s arrival. He looked meaningfully at his sister, and Halla gues
sed his thoughts.
“You’d have every knight in Lorendale on your trail,” Halla said.
Bria tossed her braids. “No one would know. Ilie and I could hide you in our wagon. My parents will travel with Baba Veta in hers.”
Halla was sorely tempted, but she feared it would bring them all to grief. Still, the idea of a life lived as she chose, free among a free people, was incredibly alluring.
“I thank you, my friend,” she said, “for your offer. But I can’t risk your safety in return.”
“Promise me you’ll at least consider it!” demanded Bria.
“I will,” said Halla, squeezing her friend’s hand. “Now, I think I can smell some of your baba’s lovely persoga bubbling over the fire. Let’s say no more of my troubles.”
She was determined to savor this last day with those who knew her heart, and who understood what she would suffer leaving Lorendale. She took up the reins of her horse, and they followed the aroma of the spicy stew down to the å Livåri camp.
* * *
A low fog was rolling through the forest when the time came for Halla to bid her friends farewell. She had drunk deeply of the sweet wine offered at their fireside, and was feeling light-headed and airy.
Bria stepped forward to offer the traditional three gifts given in parting. The first was a green tunic and leggings in the å Livåri style.
“They were Florian’s, but he’s long since outgrown them,” Bria confided. “They’ll provide concealment in the forest, should you ever need it.”
The second gift was a beautiful dagger, its handle engraved with ancient script. “It says åthinoi,” said Bria.
Halla could only nod in response; her heart was too full to speak.
Lastly, her friend slipped a silver ring from her finger and onto Halla’s. “And you must have this as well.”
Florian bent to kiss her hand then, with uncharacteristic formality, and Bria, her eyes glistening, vowed to meet her after the winter months had passed.
“I’ll come to Cardenstowe with the first spring thaw,” Bria promised, her eyes glistening. “You’ll be a married woman then… so we’ll have to compare notes on bed manners.” Giggling, she brushed away her tears.
Halla’s stomach clenched at the thought of Whit in her bed, and she was made more miserable by the tight look that crossed Florian’s face.
“Goodbye, Halla,” he said, then disappeared into the murky trees without a backward glance.
Bria wrapped her in a long embrace. “He’ll pine for you,” she said, “as will I. You’ve not seen the last of us, åthinoi.” Suddenly solemn, she kissed both of Halla’s cheeks. “Dar lynatha,” she whispered.
Then she slipped after her brother into the drifting mist.
Chapter 19
On the day of Halla’s departure from Lorendale, deep winter arrived. In the courtyard, the household had gathered to say goodbye. Lady Inis reached up to adjust the collar of her eldest child’s cloak against the chill morning air.
Halla ignored her and murmured to Rowlan, the chestnut stallion whose traces she held. She had been as surprised as her escort, Sir Alson, when Nolan, in a rare show of independence, had insisted on bequeathing their father’s warhorse to her as a parting gift.
“You’re the best rider among us, Halla,” Nolan had proclaimed as he handed her the reins. “We’ll miss you,” he added softly, and Halla saw her own misery mirrored in his eyes. She gave him a tight smile, striving not to upset his fragile balance. She knew Nolan must do his duty, which at present was to be guided by Lady Inis and his council, all of whom were in agreement that her marriage should proceed at once.
Pearce, looking forlorn, waited his turn to say goodbye. Halla knew that if she held him, she risked losing her composure. Instead, she gave his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze.
She turned last to Gray, who, for once, met her gaze without malice. He offered her a soldier’s salute, his fist to his chest, and Halla grinned and returned the gesture. Then, with a heart of stone, she swung up into Rowlan’s saddle.
She bade the four towers of Lorendale Castle a silent farewell. They were so much more beautiful than the grim fortress of Cardenstowe, crouching heavy and grey on the high tor.
Then she urged Rowlan forward, her mother’s last words to her drowned out beneath the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones.
In any event, Halla was preoccupied, for she still hadn’t ceased seeking a way to avoid this marriage. Her prayers for inspiration had not been answered; short of running away, there seemed no escape. But if she did run away, where could she go? She was beginning to wonder if Bria’s suggestion wasn’t so farfetched after all.
As Sir Alson led the small party bound for Cardenstowe through the castle gates, she was pleased to see Lorendale’s reeve waiting for her on the other side. She reined in to let the two Lorendale knights who made up the rest of her escort ride ahead.
“Ye didna expect to go without a ‘by yer leave’ to yer old teacher, now did ye?” Torrin said gruffly, drawing his horse alongside hers. “Sir Draylan would have ridden a spell wit’ ye as well, if a certain imperious imp by the name o’ Gray, beggin’ yer pardon me lady, hadna demanded a trainin’ session just now. I imagine he’ll be one sore and sorry lordling in a few hours’ time.”
Halla laughed, feeling grateful for the reeve’s company. It was like bringing a bit of home along the way.
Master Torrin’s voice softened. “Ye’ll nae do anathin’ rash, now, will ye, Lalla?”
Halla was touched he’d used the name she called herself as a toddler, but found she was unable to meet his querying eyes. Fiddling with the reins, she replied coolly, “I don’t know what you mean, Torrin.”
“Sure, and I’ve known ye since ye were a wee sprout, me lady, and I ken yer heart cleaves to Lorendale same as me own. ’Tis harsh to leave a land ye love, but yon Cardenstowe is verra grand, and they’ll be lucky to have such a fine capable mistress as yerself t’ oversee it when yer time comes.” He reached across and laid a weathered hand over hers. “Beggin’ yer pardon again, me lady, but ye need to put ana thought of fightin’ them out o’ that clever ’ead o’ yers.”
Halla met his eyes then. “They can’t force me to marry my cousin, Torrin,” she replied, lifting her chin. “I’ll not have that lout!”
The reeve sighed. “Aye, Lalla, but I fear they can. If the lad’s a lout, ye’ll have to teach him to be a gentleman, though as I recall, young Whit’s more a loner than anathin’ else, bein’ an only child and left much to hisself. He has a fine mind, accordin’ to Master Cortenus, his tutor. As have ye, me lady. Mind ye use it to yer advantage. It won’t do to be steppin’ into yer new stable wit’ fettered hooves.”
To soften his words, he pulled respectfully on his forelock.
When Halla remained silent, Torrin continued his counsel. “Mark me words, me lady. I love ye as me ain daughter, and wish ye only happiness. Aye—ye’re aflame with hurt and ire, but ye’ve known this day would come, if nae wit’ a betrothal to Whit of Cardenstowe, then to another lord. Heed me words! A level head’ll rule the turrets, but a barncat’s rail will hold nae more sway than a rank breeze from the barn.”
Halla looked out over the hazed fields under the pewter sky, biting back the defiance she didn’t want to quell. After a long moment, she held out her gloved hand, and Torrin pressed his forehead respectfully against it.
“Bide thee well, me lady,” he said. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze before releasing them, then drew his horse to the side of the road.
Halla looked back to see his hand raised in farewell, and she touched her heart before raising hers in reply.
Fighting the prick of wretched tears, she spurred her horse forward, forcing her escorts to quicken their pace. They raced into the wind as the first snowflakes of the dying year began their slow drift earthward, like goose down from the seve
red clouds. The snow fell fast, silently pelting their cheeks and flanks until riders and horses alike were soon traversing a world transformed. Like a veil of lace, the snow drifted over the spent leas, concealing the dross of autumn under its pallid shroud, leaving Halla with only a whispered memory of a once-familiar land.
* * *
The plan was to make the journey in a swift five-day ride, for their party was unencumbered by wagons and carriages. They spent the first two nights wrapped in their furs under the stars, but Sir Alson proposed they stop the third night, and perhaps longer, depending on the weather, at Trillyon, a Cardenstowe property that lay halfway between Lorendale and the tor that was their final destination. A hunting lodge, Trillyon hadn’t been used the past season due to the wet weather, but Sir Alson assured Halla that Lady Rhea had sent word to the manor’s chatelaine to have all in order for their brief stay.
Halla felt a rush of relief, for it would give her precious time to consider her options. “As you wish, sir,” she said demurely.
Sir Alson gave her an approving smile. Although Halla had ridden determinedly alone for the first few miles, when the knight fell back alongside her on the Tarwen Downs, she’d decided it was wise to lead him to believe she had come to terms with her duty. So she did her best to be an engaging traveling companion, and they passed the time discussing everything from the superiority of goose feathers over swan for fletchings to the most recent news from Drinnkastel regarding the High King’s continued decline.
The household was gathered in the forecourt of the hunting lodge to greet the travelers. After meeting Mistress Ella, the chatelaine, and the senior staff, Halla announced that, due to the strain of travel, she would take a tray in her chamber and retire early.
The young bride-to-be was ushered to a suite of rooms where a blazing fire, fragrant with rosemary, had been lit to dispel the musk of disuse. Mulled wine arrived with a steaming stew of wild duck and barley, crusty bread, and yellow butter. Halla suspected the maid who laid her supper before her was new to her post, for her hands were visibly shaking. She smiled at the girl reassuringly, which had the effect of making the poor thing blush furiously and nearly knock the tray off the table.
