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

by Lisa Rector

  I want to believe him. Ahnalyn took a deep breath. She had been breathing shallowly the entire evening.

  Brenin whispered in her ear. “Ahnalyn, you can trust me.”

  “I want to…” Her whisper trailed off. Trust. Ahnalyn still grappled with the idea, but her eyes closed at his reassuring touch. His lips on her cheek burned her face. Maybe… if she knew her life would continue to be happy.

  “You can.” Brenin mumbled back ever so carefully in her ear.

  Ahnalyn could feel her body relax, slowly, from her head to her toes. Brenin’s touch made her forget everything. Just for now—just for now I will trust Brenin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HAPPINESS SHATTERED

  The bright morning sun cast its rays on her face, stirring Ahnalyn from slumber. For the first time, longer than Ahnalyn could remember, she felt grounded. Last night any uncertainty melted away. This man will love me, she thought, and Ahnalyn had broken. The tears flowed freely, and Brenin let her cry in his arms. He was understanding and didn’t press her for any reason, but just held her. To Ahnalyn, it felt as if they were clinging to each other for reassurance. She fell asleep with her head against his chest while listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heart. Now, Ahnalyn lay curled up beside him, his arms around her with his breath against her neck.

  With a realization, Ahnalyn sat up, gathering her thick bed-mussed tresses into her hands. For the first time in years she had not dreamed. No vision, no feelings, and no voices. Ahnalyn sank down into the bed and smiled. All is well. If anything, this confirmed life was as it should be. No need for comforting or guidance if this was the right path for her to take. Didn’t the voice tell her she could trust her path? But would she continue to hear less and less of her mother’s voice? Don’t leave me. Stay close, Mother.

  Brenin grinned in his sleep, and Ahnalyn laid her head on his chest and listened to his blood beat—strong, sure, and solid.

  ***

  Happiness filled Ahnalyn for weeks after the wedding. She carried a rare lightness she scarcely felt before, so she allowed herself to enjoy her new life.

  Brenin’s devotion supplied endless opportunities. He included Ahnalyn in the affairs of his realm. He taught her the politics and economics of running a kingdom and enlisted an army of scholars and teachers to help.

  He personally saw to her archery lessons. “Here’s how you hold the bow.” He wrapped her fingers around the grip in the proper fashion. Brenin stepped behind her and lifted the bow in her arms. “Relax.” His hand drew hers back. His head nestled against hers, craning to see within Ahnalyn’s line of sight, to direct her aim.

  The fletching tickled her cheek. She had grown used to her husband’s touch and now relished it.

  Brenin whispered, “Breathe… now… loose.”

  They let go together and watched as the arrow hit the edge of the target.

  “Not bad,” Brenin said.

  Ahnalyn learned how to ride a horse like a lady. She was an adept pupil, excited to learn, finding the busyness distracted her from any lingering self-doubt that she might have carried with her into the marriage. The more confidence she showed in her studies, the less helpless she felt about the circumstances pertaining to her mother’s death. Time no longer allowed for shame or anger.

  Ahnalyn was fascinated each day by the opportunities that came to her. She rode out with Brenin and visited the towns in the nearby countryside. Ahnalyn grew to love the people and saw how much Brenin loved them. Her heart swelled. Ahnalyn was unable to understand how life had changed so much in under a month. And she never grew accustomed to the people calling her Lady Ahnalyn.

  ***

  Ahnalyn and Brenin rode out one morning into the city, followed by men pulling carts laden with goods.

  “What’s this about, Brenin?” Ahnalyn asked.

  The city folk called out and waved at their lord as the group passed.

  “You’ll see, Ahnalyn.” Brenin smiled, revealing subtle creases on either side of his mouth.

  They stopped outside a sizable two-story cottage, more like an inn, but the sign said, “Orphanage for Lost Ones.”

  “Oh,” Ahnalyn said. She had not expected this.

  People outside the orphanage stopped to watch. No sooner had Ahnalyn finished with her oh, than roughly two dozen children, varying from just able to waddle to at least ten years of age, ran out of the house. Brenin slid off his horse and let the children swarm him. He scooped a little blonde girl, about five years of age, into his arms. Carrying her, Brenin laughed as he patted children on the head.

  Ahnalyn dismounted, and the children came cautiously up to her. Several girls ran their fingers over Ahnalyn’s fine garb and stroked her long, flowing hair. Ahnalyn looked at their bright, twinkling eyes. Not a dirty face among the bunch. She looked up at Brenin.

  “My monthly visit. They expect me.” Brenin leaned down and pinched one of the girls on the cheek. He was rewarded with a cluster of giggles. “They make a special effort to wash up the night before. I don’t know why. They’re still a bunch of ragamuffins.” His voice was goofy and teasing.

  Brenin set down the girl and crouched to look into her face. “But you, Alice, are a little lady.” Brenin touched the navy-blue bow in her hair. “You wore the ribbon. You look lovely, my lady.” And he kissed her hand.

  The little girl tittered and blushed.

  “Here, I have another token for you.” From his pocket, he pulled a ribbon of pink velvet and tied it into a bow around her wrist.

  Alice grinned. “Thank you!” And she threw her arms around Brenin.

  “Fine trimmings are her weakness.” He laughed.

  Servants unloaded the goods, which consisted of fruits and vegetables, several fine birds and a ham, books, toys, and clothes.

  Brenin moved through the children, pulling more items from his pockets and slipping them into eager little hands. A polished wooden comb, a tiny broach, more ribbons and bobbles and buttons.

  “Where did you find these trinkets?” Ahnalyn asked in awe. She would have loved to have such treasures as a young girl.

  “They were my mother’s. She would have wanted this.” His smile remained but his eyes dimmed.

  Ahnalyn touched his shoulder. “You’re wonderful.” He would make an attentive father. Ahnalyn stilled. They had yet to discuss children, though she knew it was expected. Brenin needed an heir.

  Brenin brightened. “It’s nothing. I do what I can. Most of these children were orphaned during the fever epidemic three years ago. A few have come along since. I’m making sure they’re educated and taken care of and once they’re old enough, placed into a trade or given jobs.”

  They moved toward the building. Most of the children had gone ahead, but a few remained near Brenin and Ahnalyn when a man tore down the street on a horse, parting the onlookers.

  Brenin’s guard instantly covered him, and Brenin drew his sword to cover Ahnalyn and the children.

  Ahnalyn scooped up Alice, and back-stepped, her eyes wide, her body taut, ready for action. All will be well, she told herself.

  The disheveled man slid from his horse and fell into the mud.

  The group relaxed when they saw he was a scout from an outpost, bearing the colors of the realm, gold and emerald. His face was sweaty and smeared with dirt, and he looked as if he’d fainted.

  “Help him,” Brenin ordered.

  A woman emerged from a house with a cup of water. One of the guards rushed over to support his head while he drank. The man gasped and choked it down.

  When it looked as though he’d recovered enough to talk, Brenin exclaimed, “Speak, man! What’s the matter? Why have you come upon us thus?”

  “Lord Brenin.” He wheezed. “We were attacked. I was sent… alerted the sentries. General Gethen… from Rolant… massive army attacked the settlement at the forest’s edge. Burned to the ground… people fled.”

  Ahnalyn gasped. Brenin turned to her for one second, and his eyes met hers. The look on hi
s face was all of horror.

  “Get the children inside,” Brenin said.

  Several of them groaned and whined, disappointed that their visit would be shortened.

  He turned back to his men. “What is Caedryn thinking? This was unprovoked. We’ve always had peace with Rolant.” Brenin turned back to Ahnalyn. “I must go.” He kissed her on the cheek and hurried with his men to the palace.

  Each limb as though stuck in sludge, Ahnalyn slowly climbed back onto her horse with assistance from her guard and followed Brenin up the road.

  Looking back at Alice’s face, Ahnalyn caught a glimmer of hope. The child didn’t understand or at least didn’t realize the gravity of the situation.

  Ahnalyn shook her head, clearing it. Terrin had been attacked. There would be war.

  ***

  A council was convened in the war room with the general and his commanders. Ahnalyn crept into the room to listen. Brenin met her eye and followed her path to the chair on the dais.

  “Where’s the intelligence alerting us to the attack? Where were the scouts and sentries?” Brenin asked.

  A lieutenant on Brenin’s left spoke. “It was a stealth attack. Well timed. A small squad took out the sentries at the pass. No alert was called. Gethen and his army filtered out the pass and set up camp in the outpost. The scouts and the supply wagon to the outpost were ambushed. The week that it took Gethen and his army to travel through the forest was the same amount of time that was expected for the supply wagon to return. Unfortunately, Gethen’s army arrived instead.”

  Brenin swore under his breath.

  Ahnalyn tightened her grip on the chair’s handle. Such words from Brenin were rare, but she’d never seen a time of war either.

  The palace was in an uproar. The kitchen and household was stockpiling supplies. Ahnalyn wondered what the rest of the city looked like—panicked and worried faces, husbands’ leaving their wives as the garrison was called into action. Brenin had sent patrols to prevent rioting or looting in the city.

  “Why are they doing this? Have we not had peaceful trade? Does Gethen make demands?” Brenin asked, leaning over the table, his elbows locked.

  “No, my lord. His designs are unknown.”

  “Send men to investigate. I want his demands and want to know the meaning of this hostility. Demand he make restitution for the homes destroyed and lives lost. We can make a supplication for peace.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Several men stood to leave, and a few remained to talk war strategy.

  “Send word to my uncle. I want to know if they can supply reinforcements and if they have any intelligence gathered.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Another man left.

  ***

  Most of Brenin’s days were spent in council. Brenin came to bed weary every evening. Ahnalyn held him from twilight until the break of dawn, watching him groan in his sleep and sometimes cry out. “Shh, my dearest, shh,” she said as she stroked his locks. Not much could be done to raise his spirits. Brenin seldom smiled or laughed and, if then, only feebly.

  The council the following day spoke of the raids, which had started in outlying villages. Sieffre sent part of his army to help in defense of Terrin’s borders, but Gethen’s army was growing in numbers every day, the raids on the villages providing provisions to fuel the enemy further. Brenin’s embassy to discuss cessation of hostilities had been killed. Apparently Gethen didn’t want to make supplication for peace.

  “Send more troops to defend them,” Brenin said wearily.

  “My lord, we lack the manpower. If we send more troops to defend the outlying villages, Gethen will cut them down—”

  “Like he massacred the embassy,” Brenin muttered under his breath.

  “—leaving Hyledd exposed. We must ride out in full strength. No other recourse would be prudent,” a lieutenant said.

  At this rate, their army would be depleted before Gethen attacked. Brenin’s lieutenant was right. They couldn’t spare any more men.

  “Evacuate the remaining towns along the river into the city. Bring the staples they have. I will see they’re safe.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Many people had already flocked to the city for aid, but supplies were scarce. Ahnalyn didn’t see how they would support so many people.

  The council had adjourned, and Ahnalyn realized the men were filtering out the door. She jumped up to follow Brenin.

  “Where are you headed?” Ahnalyn asked.

  “I’m going to ride out and help evacuate the lake town. Gethen will be upon us by the week’s end.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Ahnalyn said.

  Send the people south, not to the city.

  Ahnalyn froze. What? Her familiar voice, silent for many weeks, was giving counsel, coming as a warning.

  Brenin stopped. “What is it, Ahnalyn?”

  Ahnalyn repeated the words. “Send the people south, not to the city.”

  Brenin stared at her curiously. He touched her shoulder, and his fingers trailed down her neck to the stone she wore. His brow creased but his face brightened as if in understanding. “Master of Light, you’re right.”

  Ahnalyn was confused by this mention of the Master. Brenin had never spoken of him before.

  “I should have realized. It’s clear to me now, Gethen’s goal. His path of destruction is leading straight to Hyledd. If the people come here, they’ll be trapped in the city. I’ll send them to Tarren in the south.”

  Of course his path of destruction was leading here. What a strange thought. Ahnalyn couldn’t help but to think another meaning was behind those words. “My father lives on the outskirts. Send a message to him. He will help.”

  “Ahnalyn, you should leave. Go stay with Owein. You’ll be safer there.”

  Ahnalyn pulled back to look into Brenin’s face. “No, my lord. I would not leave you. I’ll stay with our people. They need me.”

  Brenin’s face deepened with creases, but he kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Ahnalyn. It will boost my spirit to have you stay by my side. Master, help us all.”

  ***

  “Ruthless braggart!” Brenin exclaimed.

  He was pacing their bedroom.

  Ahnalyn sat on the edge of the bed in her nightdress and watched Brenin’s steps. Unable to stand his distress any longer, Ahnalyn stood, and Brenin surrendered to her embrace. He buried his face in her hair against her neck. Moisture dampened her skin, and she knew he was crying.

  The following morning, Ahnalyn understood his reaction. Brenin spent the entire day preparing his remaining army to ride against Gethen into battle. They’d meet him to the east of the city on the shores of Lake Mererid as a last attempt to prevent Gethen from breaching the city.

  Ahnalyn stepped onto the balcony for respite from her endless day’s duties. She’d seen to food, shelter, and clothing for recent refugees, the ones who refused to leave the city. Her feet ached, and her neck was tight from the stress.

  Her maid fussed with the bed linens but paused. “My lady, you should sit. You’re looking peaked.”

  Ahnalyn didn’t respond but absentmindedly rubbed her stomach, clutching the balcony rail for support. She gazed out to the barracks at the edge of the city. Brenin was there, readying the remainder of the troops for battle. A shadowy cloud loomed in the sky. This did not foretell a good sign.

  In the distance beyond the lake, a gray mass covered the ground—General Gethen and his men. Brenin’s forces were vastly outnumbered, and he lacked additional reinforcements from Talfryn, but he’d do his best to prevent Hyledd from being taken.

  Tension was in the air around her. The men are going to die, Ahnalyn thought. She didn’t see how they could win this. Closing her eyes, she furrowed her brow with frustration and despair. Ahnalyn prayed for a solution. How will they survive? But Ahnalyn received no answer to her silent plea. They were alone in this. She wanted her intuition and comforting feelings. Mother, what can we do?

  “Cora,” she said to he
r maid. “Get your daughter and leave. Go south to Tarren. On the outskirts is a humble cottage where my father lives. Owein. Tell him I sent you. You’ll be safe there.”

  Ahnalyn left her maid staring in contemplation. She was unsure if the girl would heed her words, but she didn’t care.

  Turning, Ahnalyn ran—into her room, down the long halls, out the palace front doors, and down the road. Slowing her, Ahnalyn’s dress bunched between her legs, being impossibly difficult. She tripped over cobblestones as she ran toward the barracks. Looking up through the mess of her windblown hair, Ahnalyn saw a rider approach. Brenin.

  Brenin’s eyes met Ahnalyn’s, and he stopped his horse. He dismounted with a graceful swing of his leg. His face was flushed. Brenin was wearing his gear for battle—thick, woven layers of a leather tunic, with leather gauntlets and spaulders.

  Out of breath, Ahnalyn rushed into Brenin’s arms. He embraced her, his body hard from the leather and smelling of sweat and horses. Ahnalyn looked up into Brenin’s face—exhaustion besieged it.

  “Don’t go… don’t do this,” Ahnalyn pleaded.

  “Ahnalyn…” Brenin tried to smile. She could almost see his trademark grin behind his weariness.

  Brenin reached out and pulled on one of her loose, wild curls. He lovingly touched his fingers to her cheek. “I have no choice. I need to defend my people.”

  “But you could die!” Ahnalyn pulled away. “Don’t go. Don’t ride out to battle. Please.”

  Brenin just looked at her. His eyes were drained, leaching into his smile, his face failing to hide the ache. “I know. Life was wonderful. We were content.”

  “No, Brenin. You’re saying goodbye. No!” Ahnalyn could see he was torn. He would have loved nothing better than to stay with her, but she knew he wouldn’t. She was making this too difficult—but this was difficult. He’d said goodbye to her as if he were going to die.

  “I’m sorry,” Ahnalyn whispered, and fell into his arms again, leaning her head against his chest.