In the morning, just as Sean suspected, Charles had remained in his own bed; in fact, there was a strong possibility he hadn’t moved at all. He was buckling his armor on when Armelle came in dressed in only her robe.
Her fingers brushed the brooch on his shoulder. “Did Ferris tell you about this?”
“He told me you had it made. He said you told him what the stones were and what they meant, but he didn’t think he’d get any of it right, so I was to ask you.”
“Did he now? I think he was just being macho in front of all the men. I should have known.” She took a corner of her sleeve and polished each stone as she spoke of it. “This one…” the center one “…is an opal, and it stands for hope. This one…” the top one “…is a garnet, and it stands for constancy. This one…” the one on her right “…is a sapphire, and it stands for clear thinking. This one…” the bottom one “…is aquamarine, and it stands for courage. And this one…” the last one “…is an emerald, and it stands for success. It also stands for love. I love you. This is the best good luck token I can give you. Be safe and come back to me.”
She looked like she was near tears, so Sean hugged her. Not too tight because of his armor, but he did like the smell of her. “Can I have something of yours to go with it?” he asked, wishing he could put her in a locket and keep her in his pocket.
“Of course you can, what would you like?”
“Something that won’t take up much room – something that will remind me of you every time I look at it.”
She thought for a moment, then she dived into the closet. She came out with the white satin ruffled thing she had worn in her hair at their wedding. Sean held it to his nose and relished the smell of her. He created a small Ziploc bag and sealed it safely inside before stashing it behind his breastplate. The action reminded him that his Uncle Clayton had kept his stone in the same place. It was a safe place. It was next to his heart.
Charles started to stir.
“Come on, sleepy head. The sun is leaving us behind,” said Sean, and watched him try to sit up.
“I can’t move my legs,” he said, truly getting scared.
Sean laughed and knelt down beside him. He eased much of the stiffness from his body, but the rest would have to heal naturally. “There you go, buddy. Come on, let’s go get something to eat, then we’ve got some horses to train.”
About the author
Anna lives in the wilderness of Alaska. Her connection to the outside world is restricted to a post office that is nearly thirty river miles upriver from where she lives in Skwentna, Alaska, a fixed wireless telephone, and very recently, a internet satellite dish. She doesn’t own a car since there are no roads. The end of the closest road is at least sixty river miles downriver. From there, it’s a taxi to the next town of any size (Wasilla Alaska is on the map too). Needless to say, she doesn’t go to town very often!
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The Making of a Mage King: Prince in Hiding Page 33
