Chronicles of the Half-Emrys Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Lisa Rector

  Looking back at her cottage for the last time, Ahnalyn waved at her father. By evening, she would be looking upon the Great River and Hyledd.

  Her heart thudded. Her adventure was beginning.

  ***

  Ahnalyn rode with the half-dozen men to the capital city of Terrin. The day’s ride was unremarkable with fair weather and a shining sun. Kindness was extended to her by Brenin’s men. They gave her food for dinner, engaged her in small talk, and made sure her horse didn’t run away with her. They laughed with each other over matters Ahnalyn didn’t understand, sometimes a quip about someone’s wife or child. One of the younger men, with a clean-shaven boyish face, was apparently quite fond of a young lady at court and was the center of the older men’s jokes. Because of their jovial natures, Ahnalyn’s spirit lifted as the day wore on.

  From the hills in the south, the city of Hyledd could be seen miles before she arrived. Ahnalyn had vague memories of passing this way before, once, when she was little, but the sight still made her gape with awe.

  Hyledd sat on the western shores of massive Lake Mererid where the Great River poured from the lake and ran north of the city, forming an estuary before dumping into the sea. An impressive white wall of stone ran around the southern border of the city, stopping on either side at the river’s edge, where the docks allowed ships to come in for trade from other coastal towns.

  A man keeping pace beside her must have noticed Ahnalyn’s amazement. “’Tis a magnificent city, my lady. You should be happy here.”

  Her face waxed warm from the title. “Yes indeed, it’s beautiful.” She nodded her head in agreement.

  “Wait ’til you see the view of the river from the palace. Fresh breezes, the gulls calling, the ocean in the west when the sun sets below it—Lord Pwyll, rest his soul, truly chose a glorious place to establish his realm.”

  “Lord Pwyll is Brenin’s grandfather?”

  “Aye. Truly the best of them. ’Tis a shame Lord Pwyll’s eldest son died so young just after Lord Brenin was born.”

  “Has it been difficult for my lord? How has he borne it?”

  “Fairly well. Lord Brenin doesn’t remember his father, and he has his uncle, the King of Talfryn, to mentor him and be a father figure. His mother raised him until she died last year. Her death was hard on my lord.”

  Ahnalyn remembered the day of mourning decreed over the kingdom. This was before she met Brenin. He showed up in her life a few short months later and must have still been grieving. His lingering for long days in her pasture made sudden sense to her. They needed each other, both still recovering from the sadness of their pasts.

  The man stopped his horse, so Ahnalyn reined hers to a halt. The others were moving with steady hoofbeats in front of them. He reached a gloved hand out to her and touched her arm. “You’ve been his salvation. Brenin found you right when I thought his despair would overcome him. I thank you for that.”

  Surprise filled her. Ahnalyn had no idea Brenin was hiding such deep pain behind his laughing and smiles. She looked into the eyes of this older man, who bore the crest of the kingdom on his chest. His esteem showed, with clarity, a fatherly love for Brenin. Ahnalyn squeezed her eyes shut to prevent any tears from slipping loose. Who is whose salvation indeed?

  They continued on, the city looming closer as they descended the rolling hills of the countryside.

  The palace, on the highest point overlooking the river, was a grand structure of white turrets and shining rooftops. Her new home with Lord Brenin—with Brenin. Believing she could go from a single-room cottage to this was strange.

  As the day drew to a close, the group entered the southern city gate. Houses were made of stone and avenues were spacious for carts and horses. The city had been expertly crafted—the workmanship showed the best quality. White stone came from the mountains in the north and had been hauled vast distances to make this city monumental.

  The road passed through the center market and the main square before climbing the hill to the palace. From across the countryside, the people of Terrin came to the Hyledd markets to do business, but the daily commotion in the market and square was wrapping up for the night. Stalls and carts filled with merchandise and foods were closing down. People were shutting up shops: drawing shutters tight, collapsing awnings, and calling for wandering children.

  Ahnalyn was grateful she missed the loud voices floating on the air as people exchanged goods and haggled over prices, but even so, without the tumult, her nervousness peaked.

  The memory of her single trip to the city stirred in Ahnalyn’s mind. She had visited the city with her parents before her mother died, eleven years prior. Ahnalyn recalled the way her mother smiled, with her long blonde hair swinging, and the way Niawen held Owein’s hand as if he was the only man in the world. Ahnalyn choked with her inhale, and a cough escaped. Oh, mother! How I miss you! She grabbed the one possession that held her together as she started her new life—the stone around her neck.

  At long last, they arrived at the palace. They entered a paved courtyard flanked by verdant lawns. Hedges with archways hinted at gardens beyond. A sweeping staircase graced the front of the palace, leading up to a set of gleaming bronze doors. The peachy sun hung beyond the palace walls before dipping out of sight, leaving the fire baskets the task of piercing the dismal gloom.

  Ahnalyn’s pulse raced and her body itched with anticipation.

  Brenin stood in the center of the courtyard as the company drew up. A servant held his torch high, lighting Brenin’s face in the dim light. Brenin took the reins of Ahnalyn’s horse and steadied the beast.

  She looked into his eyes as he gazed up at her. His face showed sincere affection, setting Ahnalyn’s rapidly beating heart at ease.

  Taking Ahnalyn’s hand, Brenin helped her down and playfully pulled her close. In her weariness from the long day, Ahnalyn was caught off guard by his forwardness, and she dipped her head.

  Brenin lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. His lips were warm, and Brenin smelled like dewy grass. He pushed her long hair back and whispered in her ear. “You are as a bright moon shining down on the oppressive gloom. Thank you for taking a chance with me. I promise you won’t regret your decision.”

  A delightful chill raced down her spine.

  ***

  Early summer arrived the week before the wedding.

  Spinning awhirl, Ahnalyn tried to embrace her new life, new clothes, and new people. Everything in the palace screamed elegance. Feeling like an old rug constantly scrunched underfoot, Ahnalyn escaped into the garden.

  She wandered about with no destination in mind, past blooms of various colors and shrubbery shaped into artful images. Her fingers plucked unsuspecting flower heads and shredded them, leaving a path of petals in her wake.

  Ahnalyn wanted to be sure she married Brenin for the right reasons and he her. How could marrying someone ease the pain of the past? What if this marriage was to bind up their old wounds, but not heal them? Can I still trust my choice?

  She stopped abruptly when a voice flooded her thoughts. Hold on to your hope for the future. Erase your doubts and draw on your faith.

  True. The voice in her head was so knowledgeable. Those words were confirmed as her chest warmed. Ahnalyn exhaled a short sigh of relief.

  Turning, Ahnalyn felt a tug on her skirts. They were so full and the material was so smooth that the hem caught on a holly, causing a thread to pull through the length of her dress. Before she reached down to free herself, someone had beaten her to the task.

  Brenin stood and took her hand. “The holly snagged you precisely when I wanted to see you.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “You look as though thoughts have been overturning in your head, Ahnalyn.”

  He grinned at her with his usual enthusiasm.

  Ahnalyn nodded her head. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you walk around with that mask on your face? Aren’t you just agonizing inside?�
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  “Ahnalyn…” Brenin led her over to a stone bench, and they sat down after she struggled to arrange her skirts properly.

  “It’s just that, I know you’re still sorrowing from the loss of your mother, and I from the loss of mine. How do you still manage to smile and carry on?”

  “I know you don’t want to hear me say this: I do it because I must. I have a duty. But there’s more to it than that. I allowed myself to mourn for a time, and the pain is still there, but I want to continue enjoying life. I found something, or rather someone, who gives me joy.” Brenin squeezed her hand, and she looked up to see the usual sparkle in his eyes.

  Ahnalyn tilted her head to her shoulder away from Brenin. “Are you marrying me just to overcome your mother’s death? I see the other ladies in the court. They’re handsome and talented. Why’d you pick me?”

  “I’m marrying you because you make me happy. You see the real me. While the ladies are lovely, they see the title, and they see my influence and power. Remember the day we met?”

  Ahnalyn nodded her head.

  “When you looked up from the creek I saw the real you, and you saw the real me. I knew right away that we had a connection. You didn’t know who I was either. I thought that was interesting.” Brenin’s cheeks lifted in a silent musing.

  Ahnalyn nudged Brenin’s shoulder with her own. He drew her closer and slid his fingers into her hair behind her ear. Brenin didn’t kiss her, but instead caressed her cheek with his thumb.

  “What did you think about our first meeting? Curiosity has the better of me,” Brenin said.

  A smile spread across her face, recalling the ridiculous memory…

  She didn’t hear Brenin’s approach over the gurgling water’s rush. Ahnalyn was crouching, splashing her face when she looked up and saw Brenin staring intently across the creek, directly at her. Water dripped from her chin as Ahnalyn froze, concealing her alarm at allowing a stranger to sneak up on her—which was careless—she could have been in serious danger.

  Ahnalyn stared at Brenin and watched as he brought his horse to the water for a drink. Her brunette hair fell loose from her shoulder, like a veil across her face. She reached up to brush it back when she noticed Brenin’s grin. He didn’t say a word but squatted down to take a drink from the water. The tension mounted for long minutes, and Ahnalyn remained still.

  Having just met Brenin, she wondered about him, noting his fine dress and noble horse. Ahnalyn had never seen him before. Her internal guiding voice was quiet. At least it had not sounded a warning.

  Brenin broke the silence by laughing. “Are you going to let the water drip from your chin, like my horse here, or should I offer you my handkerchief?” In three strides, with his cloak blowing behind himself, Brenin crossed the creek, soaking his boots to mid-calf. He held an indigo cloth out to her. Ahnalyn looked at it dumbfounded and wiped her chin with her hand while taking the handkerchief. Brenin laughed again. “Well, that defeats the purpose, but you’re still welcome to it.”

  Ahnalyn blushed. Clearly she was an idiot. Brenin asked if she had eaten and opened his horse’s saddlebag, producing a meal more extensive than Ahnalyn had ever seen. The man sat down and patted the grass beside himself, encouraging her, as if she was a frightened puppy, to come and sit.

  “I assure you I’m harmless.” He grinned. “Here, my attendants pack too much for me.” He tossed her a peach, and Ahnalyn caught it. Before opening her bread and cheese (while ignoring the peach), she sat across the creek from him and watched him eat his sandwich. He must think I’m a half-wit, but to err on caution’s side was better, so Ahnalyn didn’t say a word, not eager to reveal anything about herself.

  “Your sheep is trying to eat your peach,” he observed.

  Ahnalyn’s eyes roved off the stranger and snatched the fruit up before the sheep could poke it. The sheep nosed her shoulder instead.

  “I must return to my flock,” Ahnalyn said. “Thank you for the peach.” She nodded at Brenin and stood to go, gathering her bundle of uneaten bread and cheese. A little for spite or maybe to show she was indeed grateful for the peach, she bit into the soft flesh—it was sweet—and the juice dripped down her chin.

  “Wait, you might want to use the handkerchief now.” Brenin laughed while sloshing across the creek and picked up the fabric square off the ground where she had left it. He held it out to her and smiled.

  Ahnalyn took the handkerchief from Brenin and bit into the fruit again. This time juice ran down her wrist and inside her sleeve.

  “Remind me to bring an apple next time, they’re less messy,” Brenin said.

  Ahnalyn looked at Brenin, who was standing mere feet from her, and burst out laughing. She had not laughed like that in such a long time that she covered her mouth, embarrassed.

  Brenin laughed too. “I’m glad you like it.” He scratched his head. “We can stick with a peach, if that is your wish.”

  To Ahnalyn’s amazement and intrigue, Brenin didn’t leave after that.

  “You’re not going to ask my name?” the man inquired while following Ahnalyn up the hill.

  She turned to the man. True, she didn’t know his name at the time. From his attire, Ahnalyn surmised he was a noble, but he didn’t have an entourage trailing after him. The man appeared young—near Ahnalyn’s age—and a bit too eager. Brenin pushed the curls out of his face. She had no idea why he was here or why he was practically chasing her up the hill. She poked at one of the sheep with her staff, thinking she would move the flock closer to the paddock as she did at nightfall.

  “Does it matter? I probably won’t ever see you again.”

  “I’m hurt. I thought we could make dining together a daily ritual. I enjoyed watching you slop food down your chin.”

  Ahnalyn smiled, unable to resist. His attempts to make her laugh worked.

  “I’m Ahnalyn.” It surely couldn’t hurt to reveal her name.

  “Brenin.” He extended a courteous hand with a slight bow.

  Ahnalyn narrowed her eyes, “The Lord Brenin?” She wasn’t that much of a simpleton. Brenin’s name was well known throughout the land of Terrin.

  “The one and only.” Brenin grinned.

  “You’re much younger than I imagined.”

  “What? You thought I was some scabby, old man.”

  “No, just not… young.” They were nearly to the top of the hill. Ahnalyn sat on a rock in the shade of a tree.

  “You think I’m inexperienced?”

  “No, not at all—I wouldn’t know. But shouldn’t you have a guard? Why are you out on your own?”

  “The best way to meet charming, young maidens is to be out on your own.” Brenin paused, looking at Ahnalyn. “My men are close behind me though. I’m sure they have eyes on me. They would have scouted ahead and known all was well.” Brenin sat beside her on the rock.

  “Quite forward aren’t you?” Ahnalyn teased, caught up in his charisma. Not to have been serious all the time was quite different…

  Ahnalyn blinked the memory away and smiled at Brenin sitting beside her on the garden bench. “I thought you were pretentious, but I guess it turns out you actually were the most important person in the realm.”

  Brenin laughed. “And here I thought I was humble.”

  He had seen the real Ahnalyn and she him. This helped to calm her anxieties about the upcoming nuptials. If two people could be open and honest with each other, make each other laugh, and have courage to share their weaknesses, then what two people couldn’t be happy together?

  Ahnalyn smiled at Brenin’s hopeful but humble heart. If he wasn’t afraid to take off his mask, she would take off hers.

  ***

  The wedding day arrived.

  Ahnalyn recalled very few details. It all happened like a flash of lightning. Attendants dressed her in an exquisite sea-foam green gown, light and silky to the touch. She vaguely remembered her hair pulled into an intricate design around her head.

  The chapel loomed before her with foreboding
doors. Ahnalyn was pushed through the entry, and her father stood waiting—Brenin must have sent for him earlier during the week. She shambled down the aisle among a room full of strangers. Her father’s dry lips grazed her cheek, and his strong arms slid around her. She remembered Brenin’s grinning face, his eyes glistening with happiness. An old man mumbled words. And she savored the taste of a kiss—delicate, tender, and yielding. Ahnalyn’s face flushed—her first real kiss. She was a married woman now.

  Ahnalyn remembered dancing with Brenin and her father. She remembered eating wonderfully delicious food, the aromas all so enticing, like nothing she ever smelled before. And cake—never had Ahnalyn eaten cake.

  Then it was over.

  ***

  Late in the evening after the wedding, Ahnalyn looked around the room—their room. The palace was quiet and the world still. The balcony doors were open and a breeze from the river swirled in. Filmy curtains caught the wind and puffed out into the room. On the tables, lit candles flickered wildly.

  Ahnalyn felt thin, as if the wind could lift her and carry her out to the river. She stood in a simple white dress, which flowed down her body to the floor and caught the wind. The coolness and the weight of the smooth stone around her neck grounded her.

  Movement stirred out of the corner of Ahnalyn’s eye. Brenin shut the balcony doors and gave a little chuckle. “I can’t have you blow out to sea.”

  He stood before her with a ridiculous grin, half laughing but growing serious.

  He is handsome. Ahnalyn sighed mentally, noting his wild curls.

  Brenin lightly touched Ahnalyn’s face and pushed her hair behind her ear, trailing his hand down her back.

  Betraying her, Ahnalyn’s shaking hands revealed her anxiety. She knew what happened next, despite having no mother to school her on such matters. Ahnalyn had heard enough from her lady’s maids.

  Brenin frowned when he saw the look on Ahnalyn’s face. “Breathe, Ahnalyn. The distressing part is over.” Brenin leaned in to kiss her cheek.