by Donna Hatch
Servants holding torches paused from their duty of lighting the candles lining the castle corridors and stepped back to let Jeniah and Mora pass. Each servant suddenly had a face, a name, a story. Somber from her chayim’s death, and overcome at her startling new awareness of people around her, Jeniah wanted to weep for her past blindness to the humanity all around her.
Inside Jeniah’s bedchambers, candles flickered from every sconce on the polished walls. The large bed commanded the eye with its carvings of mythical scenes, its heavy velvet draperies, and its colorful, overstuffed pillows. The rich reds of the intricately embroidered fabrics filled the room with warmth.
Jeniah watched the play of the candlelight on the polished stone floor while Mora unfastened the buttons that ran down the back of her gown, chattering on about something Jeniah could hardly follow.
“. . . and oh, so handsome. I wonder if he has an older brother? Too bad his father isn’t still alive.”
Jeniah managed a wan smile over her shoulder at her maid as she stepped out of the gown pooled on the floor. After helping her wash, Mora dressed her in a deep purple gown embroidered with gold thread, then fastened it down the back before fluffing and arranging the sleeves. Jeniah sat at the dressing table, her fingers carelessly tracing the carving on the burled wood while Mora went to work on her disorderly curls. After a moment, Jeniah realized Mora had fallen silent and was watching her with a worried crease in her forehead.
“You’re very subdued this evening. Is anything wrong?”
Jeniah hesitated before replying. “I’m merely tired.”
“Are you unwell?”
“No, Mora, truly, I’m fine. No need to worry.” Out of a desire to change the subject, she asked, “You mentioned a ceremony tonight?”
“To welcome the new Darborian Sauraii.”
Without any true interest, Jeniah asked, “The Darborian what?”
“Sauraii. It’s a title for an elite weapons master. There aren’t many who bear that title in all the lands, certainly none in Arden. Your father was so impressed with the Sauraii the last time he and the prince visited Darbor, that he arranged to borrow him from King Farai to train our knights.”
“So a Sauraii is merely another kind of warrior.”
“A highly skilled warrior,” Mora amended. “You’ve never heard of them?”
“No, and I’m surprised you have.”
Mora looked sheepish. “I knew very little of them until today.”
“Why this sudden interest in warriors?”
“Since they came in the form of Kai Darkwood. Haven’t you been listening to me? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. His father was the legendary Daris Darkwood. Apparently Kai’s skills have surpassed his father’s, and he’s reputed to have never lost a battle.”
A Darborian warrior who had arrived today? That had to be the warrior in the woods claiming to be a knight. It explained much, not the least of which was the ease with which he slew her chayim.
Mora sighed dreamily. “There’s enough good looks in him to spread around a whole regiment. Ah, to be twenty years younger . . .”
The maid droned on about the many virtues of the Darborian, but soon Jeniah stopped listening. She had no interest in hearing about a soldier, especially the one who’d murdered her bonded chayim, not to mention her future. But as she realized she would have to face the knight again, a slow dread curled in her stomach. Could she be civil to him? Since her father regarded the man so highly, she had better suppress her emotions.
If the visitor were a new minstrel or a group of players, Jeniah would understand the excitement. Men who spoke with such beauty and eloquence, who knew nothing of war or weapons, were fascinating and certain to be kind and peace-loving. But a warrior? Especially this one?
When she could get in a word, Jeniah said, “And to welcome him, we must have a big, formal ceremony tonight.”
“Don’t frown so, little one,” Mora urged. “It’s time you become interested in state matters. When you marry, there will be many more.”
“That will be the end of my freedom.”
Instead of scolding her, Mora looked at her with a gleam in her eye that Jeniah had never seen before. “Just wait. Being married can be wonderful. You can have more freedom than you might expect, particularly if you marry a man of intelligence or responsibility.”
Jeniah eyed her dubiously, unable to break through her grief enough to truly care.
“The busier a husband’s mind, the more a wife can effortlessly conceal. And who knows? Perhaps you’ll wed someone handsome like the Sauraii from Darbor and then all the fun will begin,” she said lustily.
“Mora!”
Unashamed, Mora continued, “Oh, little one, you really have no idea what amazing things can happen when you do come of age and get married. You’ll see. Much of it is quite . . . wonderful.”
Mora spoke that last word with such enthusiasm that Jeniah frowned. She knew little of matters of love, but from what she’d heard, it was an arrangement that suited the man more than the woman. She shook her head, driving away images of a loveless marriage. Instead, she thought of the man from the forest, and his ferocity as he dealt death to her chayim. She shivered.
“Hold still, I’m almost finished.” Mora placed the golden circlet upon Jeniah’s head, pinned a wayward curl, and smoothed Jeniah’s hair. “There. You look perfect. Now let’s go to the throne room and enjoy the ceremony. I, for one, can hardly wait to feast my eyes upon the Darborian captain again.”
Poised enough to please even the queen mother’s sharp notice, Princess Jeniah glided into the throne room with her lady-inwaiting. She sank into a deep curtsy to the king and queen, and then to the crown prince, who sat on the dais beside them.
Despite her apprehensions and roiling emotions, the throne room enraptured Jeniah. She had not been there in ages and had almost forgotten its splendor. Soaring ceilings, polished marble, and rich tapestries combined in an opulence clearly designed to impress and intimidate.
Jeniah took her place to the right of the dais with the other lesser royalty and nobility. They stood murmuring among themselves, their voices soft. She glanced at her brother Aven, but he failed to acknowledge her.
Trumpets interrupted her thoughts and caused an excited hush. The massive doors at the far end of the throne room opened wide, drawing Jeniah’s attention. She steeled herself, determined to keep her emotions under control.
“Presenting Sir Kai Darkwood, Sauraii, captain in the Darborian army, and royal high instructor of the knights and the home guard of Darbor!”
Jeniah’s mouth went dry. Closing her eyes, she took a breath and composed herself at the unavoidable prospect of facing her chayim’s slayer. Once she was confident that her face appeared serene, she opened her eyes and forced herself to look at the honored guest.
The Darborian’s long, muscular legs carried him from the doors toward the raised dais that held the king, the queen, and the crown prince. All heads turned and followed the tall visitor who strode down the carpet.
The warrior from the woods, just as Jeniah had feared.
Her heart thumped so loudly that she half expected everyone around her to stare. She rubbed sweaty palms against her skirts and blurred so she would appear no more noticeable than one of the many courtiers in the throne room. It was an act of cowardice, but at the moment, facing the ruthlessly skilled warrior seemed too much to bear.
As he drew nearer, she drew in her breath sharply. Jeniah’s memory failed to prepare her for the masculine beauty of his face. The man from the woods had bathed and shaved, revealing strong, square features under suntanned skin. The Sauraii master’s head was uncovered and his dark hair shone in the flickering candlelight. Confident and authoritative, his bearing rivaled royalty and testified of his years as a leader. His green and gold tunic bore the Darborian king’s emblem. Though he looked solemn for the formal ceremony, good humor touched his well-formed mouth.
Jeniah remembered his
light touch as he’d brushed a tear from her cheek, stirring her awareness of him as a man. An involuntary shudder rippled through her body. She took her thoughts in hand. Ladies nearby whispered their approval and sighed, and Jeniah rolled her eyes. So he was handsome. He was also one of those dreaded warriors, a breed all those simpering ladies soundly condemned.
With the eyes of the assembly upon him, the Darborian knight climbed the steps to the dais and went down on one knee. Bowing his head, he placed his fist first on his chest and then on his forehead in homage to the king and queen of Arden.
“Welcome, Sauraii Master Kai Darkwood,” the king said with a gesture. “We are honored that you have come to aid us.”
“It is my honor to serve you on behalf of my king, Your Majesty,” the captain replied with an incline of his head.
As her father launched into a welcome speech, Jeniah shifted her weight inconspicuously. Ardeenes thrived on ceremony and tradition, a mindset that forced strictures upon all aspects of her life.
Then, as she watched her father, she realized more than ever how he deeply, passionately loved Arden. He feared for its safety and felt strongly that its customs and traditions should be honored. She knew he would do anything to protect Arden’s people and preserve their way of life.
When the king’s speech ended, he stood. “I award you, Sir Kai Darkwood, the rank of captain of the army, knight of the realm, and royal high weapons trainer of the knights and the Home Guard of Arden.”
A nobleman acting as an aide moved to Captain Darkwood and murmured something in his ear.
On one knee, the captain nodded and raised his voice. “I, Kai Darkwood, pledge my hand, my sword, my loyalty to you, Your Highness, all my life, to my death, or until you release me.”
The Ardeenes cheered as the Darborian captain arose and faced the audience. Jeniah watched the Sauraii look out over the assembly and smile all the way to his eyes. His conscience did not appear to be bothering him. He probably no longer possessed such an annoyance. How many times did a person have to kill before his or her conscience died?
Jeniah no longer truly blamed this foreign knight for his role in her chayim’s death, but the plain truth remained that he was a seasoned warrior, a professional killer, a man of violence and death.
When the formalities came to a close, Jeniah watched as the captain graciously received congratulations and words of welcome until the crowd closed in around him. Jeniah turned her back toward him.
Later, when the throng moved from the throne room to the great dining hall, she stopped blurring and took her place at the far end of the royal table with nobles and courtiers. She caught sight of Captain Darkwood seated at the royal family’s table to the right of the king. The captain and her normally reserved brother, Prince Aven, were in animated conversation. As Jeniah seated herself at her place, her eyes drifted to him again. This time, he appeared to be listening carefully to the queen as she spoke. He nodded, looked the queen directly in the eye, and smiled. Jeniah blinked.
Few men in Arden possessed such a heart-stopping smile. Pity it belonged to a warrior. How had Mora described his smile? Lethal. A very apt description in many ways.
As the music began, Jeniah found a place to sit at the far end of the room. Her heart was too heavy to receive any enjoyment out of dancing, even if she dared risk the Sauraii recognizing her.
Three noblemen stood nearby, their voices carrying to her. “Why are they so sure the Hanorans won’t declare war until after spring?” one asked.
Jeniah froze, her heart in her throat. The Hanorans were about to declare war with Arden? Unthinkable!
“Because our spies have reported that they are massing their armies in Hanore, so we know for sure they’re still there,” replied another nobleman. “And the mountain passes are already impassable due to ice and snow. They’ll have to wait until the spring thaw to cross over the mountains.”
“You sound sure they’re coming,” said the third nobleman. “They’re coming,” came the grim reply.
The third made an impatient gesture. “But we can’t be sure they’re coming after Arden. They have no quarrel with us. They’re probably going after the Govians again.”
The second speaker folded his arms. “The Darborian mages are sure the Hanorans are targeting Arden.”
There was a snort. “Mages? When have we ever trusted magic? Consorting with the powers of evil cannot be reliable.”
Jeniah’s heart stalled. Was she consorting with the powers of evil whenever she blurred? A familiar, sinking fear whispered that she was. Yet, hadn’t her chayim assured her the power she had was good, and that it would play a vital role of her destiny?
The noblemen spoke again. “Do you think the Sauraii will be able to prepare our armies if the Hanorans do declare war?”
There was a pause. “If he can’t, I pray the Darborian king will send an army to come to our aid. Otherwise, we’re all lost.”
A bolt of dread shot through Jeniah. Could Arden truly be in danger? Surely not.
She stood. Weary right down to her soul, she headed for the nearest door. She wanted to sleep for a week—to escape the excruciating memories of finding and losing her chayim, escape the whispers of war, escape the noise and the crowds. Most of all, she wanted to escape the presence of the Darborian Sauraii.
She wormed her way through the clusters of people near the edge of the dance floor. An instant before she reached the door, she realized she’d unintentionally passed near Kai Darkwood of Darbor.
The blood drained out of her face. He idly glanced at her, and then looked again. She realized that she’d lost her concentration and was no longer blurring. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to speak with him. And now that he’d visually marked her, she could not blur.
For an instant, the captain’s expression betrayed his surprise, then, looking determined, the Darborian began to move toward her. With a cry of dismay, she fled. She prayed she’d never again be forced to speak with this warrior who left death in his wake.
Chapter Four
Inside the castle training arena, Kai watched the knight beside him balance a sword in his hand. Kai nodded in satisfaction. “Much better. That other was too heavy for you. The ease with which you wield your sword is more important than the size of the blade.”
The young knight flushed, glancing back at the sword he had discarded a moment ago. “It’s a family sword, sir.”
Kai grasped the young man’s shoulder. “And one you will use with honor, Sir Gallen, when you are ready. But not today.”
Sir Gallen nodded unhappily. “Yes, Captain.”
How such an inexperienced youth had earned his knighthood— even in Arden—was beyond Kai’s comprehension, but it was not his place to make that determination. His duty was to train these men in the hopes that they could defend their country from the Hanoran barbarians, and stay alive in the process, but this boy appeared far too young to court a maid, let alone face a battle.
Unfortunately, most Ardeenes believed that war was unlikely, and until they felt any urgency, they would not progress at the rate they must in order to be prepared. If the Hanorans declared war sooner than expected, the battle would be a slaughter.
Kai felt the weight of the trust two kings had placed in him. In the little time he had, he hoped he could teach these inexperienced men what they needed to know to survive a battle and defend their country. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was much work to be done.
Kai drew his sword and took a defensive stance. He nodded in approval when the lad mimicked him. “Now come again. Keep your blade up and don’t let me get in close. The further away you can keep your enemy, the less dangerous he is to you.”
Theyouthlostsomeoftheterrorhehadwornthefirsttimethey sparred, but he still gripped his sword with white-knuckled fear.
“Now watch your footwork. Don’t be an easy target,” Kai advised.
The youth adjusted his technique.
“Better. Now come
at me again.”
Once the lad realized Kai wasn’t going to use the first opportunity to thrash him, he began to relax and swing more naturally.
“Good,” Kai encouraged. In direct opposition to most of his masters, Kai gave praise readily when deserved. “Remember to go back into the ready stance, Sir Gallen.”
Their blades rang as they clashed, drowning out the sounds of the other knights as they sparred against each other, implementing the moves Kai had taught them that day.
“Let your strength come from your whole body, not just your arms,” Kai reminded the young knight.
While Kai kept up a stream of instructions, the two slashed and parried. Sweat poured off their bodies underneath their mail, despite the cool fall breeze. Gradually, a look of determination overcame Gallen’s features, and Kai pressed him harder, hoping the boy would rise to the challenge. He wasn’t disappointed. After parrying a grueling series of blows Kai dealt him, the youth went on the offensive instead of simply trying to stay alive. Kai easily warded him off, pleased at his pupil’s progress. A moment later, the young knight left himself clearly open and Kai drove his blade in under the young man’s arm where armor left him vulnerable, but stopped short of actually piercing him.
Alarm leaped into the boy’s eyes. “Peace,” he cried in a strangled voice.
“You lost your concentration. You were doing well until then.” With a slight whistling sound, Kai removed his sword from Gallen’s torso and slid it back into its scabbard. Many masters had used the flat of their blade to punish an errant student, but Kai believed the lesson could be well learned without such measures.
“And never show fear,” Kai said. “Keep your face expressionless. It helps in battle as well as in games of chance.” He grinned at the youth.
The lad nodded, attempting a smile in return. “Yes, sir. I’ll try to remember that.”
“Go find your sparring partner and continue, Sir Gallen.”
The boy nodded again, his face showing clearly a mixture of relief and disappointment that his private lesson with the Sauraii of Darbor had concluded.
