Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. I think of Mevyn. Wish he was here. He could tell me yes or no.

  “I’ll send them. You can send them back if you wish.” She leans closer.

  “You can do that?” I stare at her. Can’t believe that a child has the power to order men and steeds. Saesa sits up. Brushes grass from her vest.

  “Yes. Watch,” the princess whispers, then speaks louder for the benefit of Tirie and Thurle. “Tib, I have decided that I will help you. You’ve been kind to me, so I shall grant your request.” The music quiets. Tirie raises a brow. Listens.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” I say. Try to sound convincing even though I don’t know what she’s talking about.

  “I shall arrange an escort for you to the Southern Crossroads of Ceras’lain. There, you can follow the road to your uncle’s.”

  “You have an--?” Saesa stops herself. “Oh, right, your uncle.”

  “Yes,” I say, catching on to the lie. “He’s old. I want to go see him. Her Highness said she’d help.”

  “I’ll come, too.” Saesa pushes herself to her feet.

  “It’s settled, then,” I say. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

  Chapter Ten: The Spar

  Azi

  Rian, Mya, and Elliot bend over the lists spread across the table, sorting through what needs to be done and deciding which one of us should do it. I try to offer my help, but I’m too distracted by the fox impostor that greeted us at the border. Who was it? Was it the same person who tried to steal Flitt’s diamond? I feel uneasy. Between that and Princess Amei’s pains, Flitt’s nearly stolen tether, and our encounter with Iren and Viala, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

  “Sir Hammerfel,” a page calls from the doorway that leads out to the courtyard. I look up expecting Mum or Da to answer him, but they’re not here. Mum is upstairs keeping vigil with Amei, and Da went to see the village smith. “Sir Hammerfel,” the page says again, and I realize he’s addressing me. “His Highness requests a spar,” he says, and my insides fill with dread. The others look up from their lists, and Rian tries hard to hide his scowl.

  “I’ll come watch,” he says, but Mya shakes her head.

  “You need to do this,” she taps the pile of parchment, “especially if we’re losing Azi to the practice yard. There’s a lot here, Rian. We need to get through it if we’re to stay on track once the princess is feeling better.” Rian agrees. He’s smart. Arguing with the guild leader is a bad idea, especially when she’s also your mother. He beckons me and I bend down for a kiss.

  “Be careful,” he whispers, and kisses my earlobe.

  The courtyard is open to the sky, but closed in on all sides. It’s clean, but run down. The ground is packed dirt and the fountain in the center is cracked and empty. Several royal guards line the peeling stone walls, and two lords Eron’s age lounge in an alcove to one side. The lords are his cousins, Fresi and Kris. They met up with us in the last village, right on schedule.

  The prince himself is waiting for me across the yard. He makes a show of his footwork as I approach, demonstrating a fancy combination that seems a little too flowery to have any practical use in battle. I try to look impressed anyway, just to cover up my nerves. The lords call out to Eron, telling him how formidable he looks, applauding his sword dance. When they see me, one of them whistles low.

  I bend my knee and bow my head as the prince turns to face me. He lets the tip of his sword drag in the dirt as he comes to stand over me. I curse my heart, which is thumping so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it. He stays there awhile, as if he’s making sure I’m well aware of my place: in the dirt, kneeling to him. Finally, he addresses me.

  “Sir Azaeli,” his tone is merry, but his words are slightly slurred. I can smell the drink on him. “Armed and ready, I see.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” I keep my head bowed. I can almost feel his sneer.

  “Stand up, then, and show me your skills. I wish to spar with the legend,” he laughs, and the lords in the alcove echo him.

  “If it pleases Your Highness,” I say, mustering my patience as I stand up and take my sword from the sheath on my back. One of the lords makes a crude remark, but I ignore it. I’ve trained for this. Thanks to Dacva and his crew, I know how to keep a level head even when my opponent is spitting venom and insults and doing everything he can to rattle me.

  I try not to think of how ungrateful Eron has been since Rian and I lifted Viala’s enchantments on him. I try not to let it bother me that he treats me this way, despite all we’ve done and all we continue to do to ensure his comfort and clear his name. He’s my prince. The heir of Cerion. The son of my liege. It’s my duty to respect and obey him, even if he doesn’t return that respect.

  We face each other and raise our blades in salute. He eyes me with a hunger that makes me uncomfortable, but I try to ignore it and concentrate on the bout instead. I’m growing used to my new sword, which Da forged for me in the weeks after the battle at Kythshire. It’s lighter than my old one, but the grip is still too new. I miss the one I lost. It was a good friend to me. Still, this one is well made, with a broad blade and a long, slender handle that requires two hands, like my last one.

  Lord Kris calls out to start the spar, and Eron advances immediately. His sword is two-handed as well. It’s similar to mine, but richly encrusted with deep red jewels that glisten like fresh blood. Our bout starts smoothly. We’re evenly matched as we swing and parry against each other.

  We go on for a while, easily driving one another back and forth across the yard. His style is much showier than mine. I ease up, since he obviously feels like he has something to prove to his cousins. He performs the dance again and arcs the blade in a quick and complicated combination that drives me backwards across the courtyard.

  “I’m disappointed,” he announces loudly. “All that talk about your skill, and I’ve got you backed into a corner already.” I raise my sword to block his, and our blades meet at my chest. He presses closer, and I shove him back with all of my strength to gain some ground. He stumbles a little but quickly regains his footing. We clash together again, driving each other back and forth across the space while the young lords call out to Eron, congratulating him for every small advantage he gains over me. Finally, right beside the alcove, I pin him against the wall with my sword.

  “You’re as good as they say,” he says through clenched teeth. “Would you be so skilled with my sword?” He thrusts his hips lewdly. Lord Kris laughs at the prince’s banter. Lord Fresi gives a halfhearted chuckle. Eron keeps his sword up and reaches with one hand to grope my chest plate. I dodge his hand and skip backwards and he comes at me with a new fury that leaves me breathless in my defense. I gain some advantage again and touch him with my blade once, twice, three times. Every time I do, his rage grows. The lords go silent as the spar grows more furious, more dangerous. Eron doesn’t hold back, and neither do I. The clash of our swords rings out loud and fierce over the courtyard. A storm cloud drifts overhead, casting a shadow over us.

  My mood shifts. I don’t care if he’s my prince, I want to see him bleed. I want him to hurt. I want him to know that he can’t do what he does anymore. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not with his wife suffering in her room, heavy with his child. This isn’t a game. This is life. His cruelty, his unseemly behavior needs to stop.

  He advances and I drive him back with an elbow to his nose. Slash at him with fury, with rage. I know I’m screaming battle cries. I don’t care. I don’t even see his face anymore, I only see the enemy. He has to learn, and I’ll be the one to teach him. My sword is swift and true. It meets its mark again and again. One touch after another, and at first the lords stay silent. The prince stumbles backwards, and when I don’t let up, the guards close in on me, shouting. I drop my sword and start punching. I don’t stop until a heavy hand clamps over my shoulder and drags me back. I blink back to my senses to see Eron kneeling in the dirt, cowering.

  When he realizes that I
’ve stopped he jumps to his feet, adjusts his chest plate, and raises his chin dubiously. His lip is bleeding and he taps it with his fingertip and looks at the blood with anger.

  “I’m bored of dueling,” he says petulantly. “Let’s go for a hunt. My horse!”

  He storms off with the lords and the guards trailing after him. The lords look over their shoulders at me as they go with a mixture of awe and fear. The hand on my shoulder loosens a little.

  “Great guts, Azi, what’s gotten into you?” I turn to see Bryse looking down at me, his stony gray brow deeply furrowed with concern.

  “You really laid into him,” Cort says from behind him.

  “I just…I guess I got carried away,” I retrieve my sword and slide it into its sheath with a little trouble, my hands are shaking so hard. I flex my fingers. My knuckles ache.

  “Serves him right,” Bryse mutters, “maybe he’ll keep his eyes to himself from now on.”

  “Mya won’t like it,” Cort says. “We’re supposed to be protecting him, not killing him in the sparring pitch.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill him,” I say, scowling.

  “You sure looked like you were,” Flitt says at the same time Bryse speaks.

  “Come on, let’s have a drink. Forget about it for now. No harm done.”

  “I’m going to go change,” I say. I need to get out of my armor and clear my head. Too much has happened. It isn’t like me to lose control that way, especially around the prince. Cort is right. We’re here to protect him, and if they hadn’t stopped me, I’m sure I would have kept going. I might have really hurt him, or worse. I think of the guards and wonder why they didn’t stop me. It was very strange how they just stood there watching. Like they knew he had it coming. It jars me a little.

  Rian and the others are gone when we go back in. The table has been cleared of papers. I leave Cort and Bryse behind and break into a jog. I’ll feel better when I get back to my room, I think. When I’m alone.

  “Wish I could have seen the whole thing,” Flitt says. “You were really impressive. What got you so angry?”

  “He tried to put his hands on me,” I push the thought to her without much effort. “Again.”

  “Creep.”

  I pause outside of my door. At the end of the corridor, Dacva is sitting in a chair outside of Amei’s door, dozing. Mum is standing beside him, chatting quietly with a guard. I worry that he’s telling her what happened, but I don’t remember him being in the courtyard. Mum sees me and waves. Even from this distance I can tell she’s relieved to see me. I put off changing and go to her instead. I need to feel her peace. She puts her arms around me, and I instantly feel better.

  “Where’d you disappear to?” she asks me.

  “I’ll tell you later.” I glance at the door. “How is she?”

  “She’ll be fine. She’s resting.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She says she had a nightmare that upset her,” Mum whispers, “and then she started to feel pains. She was worried for the baby, but Donal and the physician have both assured her that the babe is perfectly healthy. We’ll ride tomorrow, I’m certain.”

  I lean back against the wall beside her. It’s strange, I think, that all of us had nightmares last night. Dreams that caused very real problems the next day.

  “Did you have any odd dreams last night?” I ask Mum.

  “No, Sweeting. I haven’t dreamed of anything but Kythshire, since we left.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I long for it, sometimes. It’s a part of me now, somehow.” I study her for a moment, look at her as others might. Her face is older when I look at her so differently. A little wrinkled and careworn. I’ve never thought of her as anyone but my mum, but I’m starting to realize that she’s a person, like anyone else. Not just Mum, but Lisabella, too. It’s strange to think of her this way. She smiles at me with a twinkle in her eye. She always looks at me like that now. With a deep pride in me. I know I should tell her about what just happened with the prince, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.

  “I’m going to go change,” I say instead. I kiss her cheek before I go back to our room.

  Flitt is there, rooting through my packs.

  “Left pocket,” I say. “I reorganized.”

  “Oh, thank goodness. I thought we were out. You need to buy more.” She pries open the pocket with a little difficulty and pulls out her favorite treat: a sugar cube. “So.” She says as she crunches into it, watching me.

  “So?” I ask. I haven’t forgotten what she said earlier at the Maker’s tree. I’m still a little annoyed. I don’t appreciate being called stupid.

  “You beat him good. How did it feel?” She licks her fingers and smacks her lips.

  “I shouldn’t have done it.” I pull at the pauldrons that cover my shoulders and they slide off easily. One of many advantages of the armor that Iren gifted me is that it’s ridiculously easy to get into and out of by myself.

  “Well,” Flitt says haughtily, “he shouldn’t have done lots of things. I still can’t believe they’re not going to burn him. I thought humans burned bad people. Even princes.”

  “What? No they don’t. Not in Cerion, anyway. Not anymore.” I stow my armor near the bed and dress in a loose, billowy shirt and baggy trousers.

  “Oh, that’s very becoming,” Flitt says sarcastically.

  “Hush, it’s comfortable.”

  “Well, I just came for a sweet and to check in. I’m going to go back now if you’re not riding ‘til tomorrow. Lots going on at home and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “What’s going on?” I tie a sash around my waist and tuck my purse into it.

  “I’ll tell you later, okay? See you.”

  “Okay, be safe.” I watch her blink away and sink down to sit on my bed. My head is still spinning from everything that’s happened, and Flitt’s quick visit hasn’t helped matters much. I wish she wasn’t so infuriatingly vague sometimes.

  The sound of hoof beats thunders outside as the prince leaves on his hunt. Part of me is proud that I finally stood up to him, but I know it will have consequences. I made him look weak in front of his guards and his lords. That isn’t something someone like Eron will put behind him. I’ll have to be on guard around him even more, now.

  I should probably tell the guild. Even if I don’t, I’m pretty sure Bryse and Cort will. I’m grateful Bryse was there to pull me away. I shudder to think of how far I might have gone. It isn’t like me, I think, to be so violent. Certainly I’m a warrior. I’ve trained for most of my life to be skilled at swordplay. My intention has never been to cause pain or suffering, though. I am a protector. A guardian.

  Between the nightmare last night and all of the action today, I feel like I could burrow myself into bed and sleep until supper. Instead I force myself to get up. I don’t really know where I’m going until I arrive at the stables, where Pearl is munching happily on her oats. The creamy-white mare is new to me, a gift for my Knighting. She’s been brushed already, her hooves picked, her mane and tail braided. Someone has taken great care with her. I stroke her neck and lean against her, and she blinks at me. Something about the way she looks at me makes me feel like she knows everything, and she’s perfectly fine with it. I smile.

  “Good fight,” the voice makes me jump, and I turn toward it. “Good day, Lady Knight.”

  “Good day…” I say. I lean back against Pearl, who leans into me just as much as I scratch her shoulder.

  “Jac.” He bows, and then straightens and smiles at me. He’s my age or a little older. Broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curls loosely at his shoulders. His eyes glint handsomely in the sunlight. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guard. That seems to snap me back to my senses. I think of Rian and feel a little guilty for being so taken in.

  “Good day, Jac.” I turn back to Pearl and go through the motions of checking her for injuries. “Shouldn’t you be with the prince
?” I ask.

  “I’m off duty.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you think you might…” he trails off awkwardly and I look back at him over my shoulder. His face is bright red, his thick arms crossed uncomfortably over his chest. There’s a dimple in his chin, and his jaw is strong and square. “Sorry,” he shakes his head, “It’s too forward of me. Never mind.” He turns to leave.

  “No, it’s all right. What is it?” I’m curious now. I’ve never really known a guard as anything but a guard. Usually they’re very disciplined. They keep to themselves when they’re off duty. They’re always respectful. Royal guards have to go through years of conditioning and grueling training. When they come out of it, their one goal in life is simple: Serve the palace. Protect the royal family. I feel a little guilty that I’ve never considered any of them as individuals who have an identity outside of guard before.

  “I was hoping you might show me that move. The one with the pivot of the blade that nearly disarmed His Highness. And perhaps the counter? My strength is with the shield and short sword, you see, but I’m trying to move up to broad.” He sees my hesitation and steps toward me. “With trainers, of course. No need to don armor.”

  I nod, and we go to the courtyard together and pick up a pair of wooden swords meant for training. He’s a quick learner, and soon has me fighting to keep hold of my own weapon.

  “There, you have it!” I laugh as my sword goes flying. He picks it up for me and hands it back with a smile that makes my heart skip. We spend half of the afternoon in a lighthearted spar. He’s a formidable partner, and I find myself learning from him as much as he learns from me, if not more. When it’s finally time to go in, I’m a little disappointed to have to stop. It’s refreshing to have an equal to spar with, someone who isn’t older than I am or better, or trying to prove something or make a move on me. Jac is very respectful. He’s careful not to touch me or look at me the way men sometimes do. On their own time guards are usually bawdy, but he isn’t. He’s a gentleman.