The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga)

by Rachel Rossano

  “Why are you crying?” He wiped away some of the wetness with his fingers.

  She smiled. “I am so happy.” She laughed and leaned her head against him. “I am so glad you are one of His that I can’t keep it in.”

  Ireic just held his wife and let her cry. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t mind. Happy tears were better than sad.

  ~~~~~~

  The next day, Ireic returned to his duties with a lighter heart. Lirth sharing his bed and her joy in their marriage thrilled him.

  But when he beheld the work waiting for him, Ireic sighed. The stacks of documents still overflowed his desk. “I need a second-in-command,” he declared to Dorn.

  His secretary’s lean face appeared over the paper cliff on the edge of the desk. Exhaustion rimmed his already sunken eyes, giving him the look of a walking invalid. Ireic knew the man was working twice as hard as himself trying to keep up with all the paperwork and responsibilities of the new government. With the new council convening in two months and Lirth’s coronation in two days, the pace would not abate.

  “I wholeheartedly agree, sire. Why don’t you give the position to that man who rescued the Queen, the one who is due here any minute?”

  As tempting as it was, Ireic shook his head. “No. I want to reward the man, not punish him. Liam Tremain is a man of action, not a man of words and politics. I need someone who knows how to handle people and politicians.”

  “How about Lord Siver, sire?”

  That idea had merit. Ireic smiled at his secretary. “Dorn, you are a genius!”

  “Thank you, sire, but I hardly–”

  Ireic cut him off with a wave. “Have Lord Siver report to my office immediately after this meeting with Tremain. Now that the old council is gone and he doesn’t wish to join the new council, he should be eager to serve again. And if he isn’t, I shall try to talk him into it. Start drawing up the documents immediately.”

  Recovering a scrap of parchment, Dorn settled down in a nearby chair and began scratching away with his pencil. “What would his duties be exactly, sire?”

  Ireic opened his mouth to list them, but a tap at the outer door stopped him. It opened and Isack stepped inside.

  “Liam Tremain to speak with you, sire.”

  Liam’s tall, straight form stepped into the room. He executed a smart salute. Ireic rose, acknowledging it. “Thank you, Isack.”

  As his bodyguard left, closing the door behind him, Ireic came around the desk and offered Liam his hand.

  “Relax, Liam.”

  “Thank you, sire.” Liam returned Ireic’s firm grip in kind. “May I ask how the Queen is doing, sire?”

  “Certainly.” Ireic motioned toward one of the few clear seats in the room. Liam obediently sat down. “She is well and healthy. A bit nervous about the coronation ceremony, though.”

  “She will be perfect, sire. It has been too long since we had a queen. I personally believe she will be the best one in our history.”

  Ireic found himself smiling. “I am glad to hear that another feels the same as I. Though, I do tend to be biased. I will be sure to tell her that you agree with me.” Leaning back against the edge of his desk, he surveyed the man before him.

  A third born son of noble parents, Liam chose the military as a means of supporting himself. Ireic was well aware that the Tremain family had not been on the crown’s side during the recent coup attempt. Liam alone chose to support the crown, against his father’s wishes. That and his exemplary service to Lirth before, during, and after her kidnapping demanded recognition.

  “I am sure you know that I haven’t called you here to discuss my wife’s well-being.” The look on Liam’s face made it clear he did not know why he had been summoned. “In view of your current situation and past service, I have decided to reward you.”

  “But, sire–”

  Ireic raised a hand. “Let me finish. I received notice two days ago that one of the fortresses near the northern border is suddenly without a master. Lord Alain died without issue. His holdings and title are open for the crown to assign to whom it wills. I wish it to be you. With the lands, which are extensive, comes the care and service of the tenants; the title, Earl of Ashwyn; and the responsibility of assisting in securing the borderlands with Rhynan. Do you believe that you are capable of performing these duties?”

  “Sire, I–”

  “Yes or no, Liam,” Ireic stated firmly, “Answer me with a yes or no.”

  After a moment of silence in which Liam was obviously struggling with a rush of thoughts, he finally answered. “Yes, sire, I believe I am capable.”

  “Good,” Ireic smiled. “Dorn write up the necessary paperwork. Also, include a permanent commission of a hundred men from the crown to Lord Ashwyn. The crown can only call for the return of the commission in the event of war or military coup.”

  Dorn bent over his stack of paper and began scribbling madly.

  Offering a hand to Liam, Ireic said, “Welcome to responsibility, my lord.”

  “I am not sure I am ready for this, sire.” Liam shook Ireic’s hand.

  “I am certain. Now go start choosing some men to assist you.”

  Liam bowed and exited while still looking a bit shocked. Ireic went back to his stacks of paper feeling satisfied. One more thing to check off his list as finished. However, this one brought a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment.

  ~~~~~~

  The hall echoed with Ireic’s speaking voice, strong, firm and even. He recited his oath to the people, to the crown, and to the throne of Anavrea. It was customary for the king to renew his vows before the people during the preliminaries to crowning the queen. Lirth’s turn came in the next few moments. But, she had to walk the aisle first.

  She nervously smoothed the front of her dress. The heavily embroidered silk rustled beneath her fingers as she traced the vine pattern stitched into the skirt. Desperately she tried to recall her instructions. Despite the warm reassurances of Ireic, Aarint, Trahern, and Dorn, she still was not certain that she would remember everything.

  Father, Kurios, You have led us this far. With each step, You have provided us–me with the strength to face the next. Thank You for Your provision and deliverance. I ask that I may glorify You in what I am to do today. Give me the grace and wisdom to be a good queen for these people. I want to support Ireic and make him proud. I feel so inadequate for this role. Please help me be a good helpmate for a king.

  The words from Ireic’s morning reading flooded through her thoughts. “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you.”

  I understand, Kurios, she prayed. You will provide what I need and will be with me. Thank you, Kurios.

  The great doors opened with a feathering breeze against her face. The loud voice of Mather Siver announced, “Princess Lirth Yra Parnan of Sardmara, wife of Ireic Iathan Theodoric of Anavrea, approach the throne.”

  Folding her hands at her waist and straightening her shoulders, Lirth stepped forward, her head raised and eyes forward. She felt for the ridge in the carpeting that Dorn prepared down the center of the aisle to keep her on course. She counted the steps in her mind while trying to remember to smile, keep her movement fluid, and breathe. It seemed an eternity before her toes found the first of the four steps up onto the platform.

  She waited with head slightly bowed and listened for Ireic’s foot falls. He approached, his even tread reassuring among the shuffling and quiet stirring of the audience around her. Somewhere among them Aarint stood in his ambassadorial robes. Trahern, by requirement of his position as brother of the king, stood somewhere on the left end of the platform. His voice always came from that direction during the rehearsals.

  Then something brushed her cheek. Ireic’s warm fingers trailed to her chin, and he raised her face so that her eyes were looking up toward his face. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel t
he solid calm that emanated from him. His hand dropped to take one of the hands she had folded tightly against her waist. With it, he led her up the four steps and across the platform.

  “Kneel,” he whispered in her ear.

  Obediently she knelt on the waiting cushion. After a gentle squeeze, Ireic released her hand.

  The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. She was too occupied with keeping her shoulders straight and her head at the right angle to pay attention to any of the speeches. When the Lisbrith, smelling of incense, leaned near and asked her to recite the oath, she did it without stumbling. Finally, Ireic took his place before her. Then taking a deep breath, he spoke so the whole assembly could hear.

  “I have chosen you, Lirth Yra Parnan Theodoric, as my queen. Hence, I now place this symbol of my choice upon your head. May you wear it in wisdom and honor, always seeking the best for Anavrea, her people, and her king.”

  A heavy circlet fitted around her head, the cold metal settling across her brow. “Rise up so that your people may see your face, Lirth Yra Parnan Theodoric, Queen of Anavrea and wife of Ireic Iathan Theodoric, King of Anavrea.” Ireic took her hands and helped her to her feet. Turning her around so that she faced the assembly, he proclaimed loudly, “Anavrea, your queen.”

  The response deafened her.

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Some of the readers of my early drafts asked me questions regarding my representation of God in my works. Since this is one of the first of my novels to be published in which the Kurios plays a very visible role in the storyline, I figured I should clarify some things for those who wish to know the intentions of the author.

  The world of the five kingdoms (Anavrea, Larkaria, Braulyn, Sardmara, and Rhynan) is a fantasy. They share a similar Bible and biblical history to ours. They call their scriptures the manuscripts. They use kurios, a transliteration of the Greek word for lord when referring to God.

  The historical formation of their religion diverges from our actual history. However, I have endeavored to keep the nature of God, his holiness, grace, and those aspects of his character the same as what he has revealed in the Bible.

  My work is meant to point to the real God who redeemed us from our sin through the life, death, and resurrection of his Son. Thus, the Gospel remains the same. We are saved by grace, apart from our works, on the basis of Christ’s death on the cross (Romans 4, Ephesians 2).

  About the Author

  Rachel Rossano is a happily married mother of three children. She spends her days teaching, mothering, and keeping the chaos at bay. After the little ones are in bed, she immerses herself in the fantasy worlds of her books. Tales of romance, adventure, and virture set in a medieval fantasy world are her preference, but she also writes speculative fantasy and a bit of science fiction.

  Rachel Rossano loves to interact with readers.

  Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ YouTube~ GoodReads

  Also written by Rachel Rossano

  Duty (First Novel of Rhynan)

  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/281699

  Wren: A Romany Epistle Novel

  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/322579

  The Crown of Anavrea (Book One of the Theodoric Saga)

  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/96223

  The Mercenary’s Marriage

  http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/83328

  Word and Deed

  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/121981

  Exchange

  http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/92034

  Book One of the Theodoric Saga

  The Crown of Anavrea

  Eve covered her head and crouched low in the raspberry patch. She concentrated on not making a sound. The blare of the horn and the cries of the hunters faded. Lowering her hands, she strained her ears. Not even the echo of their crashing in the distance remained. The birds stayed silent, but considering the recent ruckus, they might have all fled.

  A groan broke the unnatural silence.

  She froze and listened, heart in her throat. A pained, male grunt came from about three feet to her left. Cautiously she turned her head. A stranger stared at her through the tangle of bushes between them.

  A wild mess of brown hair fell over his dark blue eyes as he regarded her in alarm. Sweat plastered the hair to his forehead. He observed her with more of a feverish glaze than true understanding. Pain etched lines about his eyes.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head. Falling forward, he then rolled onto his back and lay still.

  Eve hurried to untangle the thorns from her tunic.

  Free at last, she crept out of the patch and approached him. Fear and instinct screamed she should flee. Instead she paused. If she stopped to help him, she would be beaten. Her master warned her to stay away from the king’s men.

  Well, the king’s men or not, the pursuers were gone. As their prey, he could hardly be one of them. Was he worse?

  She inched forward and a twig snapped under her knee.

  “Go away and leave me be,” he ordered.

  “What will become of you?”

  He stared into the sky above the trees. “My pursuers return.” His chest still heaved from his recent exertion. “I die.” Restlessly, his hand clenched and released at his side as though he was fighting the urge to run.

  “I know of a place where you can hide.” She watched his lean form for a reaction. “It is nearby.”

  He stopped moving. Finally, as though sensing she would not leave, he spoke. “Come over here. I want to see you.”

  She crept to his side. As soon as she drew close, she could see the source of his pain. A shallow gash ran across his left arm above the elbow and an even more serious injury marred his right leg above the knee. The leggings, torn and caked with a combination of dried and fresh blood, trailed filth in the wound. She was calculating how she could slow the bleeding when he commented.

  “You are only a child.”

  She brought her eyes to his face and bit her tongue. This was not the time to argue her age. She returned to assessing his injuries.

  “If you are wondering whether or not I am able to walk, stop.”

  “I will help.” She met his eyes with a cool determination that left no room for doubt.

  After a moment, he broke her gaze and returned to staring at the sky.

  “What if I want to die?”

  The Crown of Anavrea

  Book One of the Theodoric Saga

  Available Now

  Wren

  A Romany Epistle Novel

  Tourth Mynth

  Snow turned the courtyard into a mess of slosh and muck. The space didn’t welcome the kind of activity I intended. My hands itched to grasp a weapon and everything in my being screamed that I should destroy something. Not a safe state of mind for plotting logically or sitting still. I strode through the slush to the heavy keep door. The great hall would work perfectly for my short term plans, open area and shelter from the elements.

  I turned back before opening the door. Wren was close on my heels.

  “Care for a round of sparring?”

  Her strange eyes cleared from worried brown to an amused amber. “Do you have an extra sword?”

  I shook my head as I shoved the door. “I was thinking along the lines of staffs or cudgels, something that won’t kill you if I miscalculate.”

  “Miscalculate? You should be a bit more concerned about me hurting you.” The wooden door closed behind her with a muffled thump. “Do you want to be disturbed?” She indicated the repaired bolting system.

  “Lock it. Let them wonder if we are killing each other.”

  The worn stone floor, spread with rushes, lay empty. An old trestle table dug out of storage rested against the far wall, and the newly-beaten tapestries adorned the walls. I ignored them. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. I needed to drive history from my mind, far from my mind. Exercising until I was too exhausted to think would numb the
pain. It would distance the ache enough so I might progress beyond the inclination to kill the enforcer slowly with my bare hands. He killed my parents!

  “Weapons?” Wren’s voice cut through my thoughts at just the right moment.

  “Take your choice.” I indicated the rack of various implements next to the trestle table. Walking to the far end, I shed layers of clothing down to tunic and britches. “Are you sure you are up for this?” Discarding the last overtunic on the heap, I shivered in the frigid air. I welcomed the discomfort.

  “Of course,” she said from right behind me. “On guard.”

  A wooden club whizzed past my head. Striking the wall inches past my shoulder, it clattered to the floor. I stared for a second. Gone was the quiet, withdrawn woman I thought I knew. Hair wrapped around her head, stripped to her leather jerkin, shirtsleeves, and leggings, she moved like a sleek cat, feminine, yet deadly. Confidence radiated from her as she whipped another cudgel into her dominant hand.

  “Remember what I do for a living.”

  She advanced and I retreated to the fallen weapon. Scooping it into my hand, I swung it up into a defensive stance seconds before she struck at my shoulder.

  I retaliated with a series of strokes that should have reduced her to begging for leniency. Instead, she met me hit for hit, backing away into the center of the room. Although she gave ground, I grew wary. She was holding back. Fury boiled in my belly.

  I changed my attack. After feinting to the left, I jabbed at her right. She took advantage of a small defensive weakness and landed the first blow, a hard jar to the ribs. I renewed my onslaught, taking a risk. She saw the move and sidestepped at the last moment, dancing out of my reach. Breathing hard, we faced each other.