The Legend of Oescienne--The Reckoning (Book Five)

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  “My ... green cloak?” His tone was puzzled.

  Denaeh nodded, though she now faced the outside world once again.

  “The one reserved for visiting the palaces of my fellow sovereigns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would I wear my best cloak to ride out into the country?”

  “Because I asked it of you.”

  For a long minute, he made no sound, no move to leave. Denaeh drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips as finally, finally, a small flicker of a future that might be danced before her vision.

  “The green cloak,” she said again, her voice firm. And then, in a more confident tone, “Trust me. Just this once.”

  * * *

  Jahrra stared at the oak tree, its canopy disappearing into the thick fog above her, and scowled. For almost an hour, she had been trying to stir the spirits of her friends within the tree, but nothing, not even a tiny flicker of light warmed her palms when she pressed them to the rough bark. What had she done the day before, and what was she doing wrong now? Had it really all been an illusion, then? Had her grief made her so desperate she was willing to find her lost loved ones locked inside a tree?

  “What an utter fool you’ve become, Jahrra,” she rasped to herself, tears of frustration pooling in her eyes.

  She turned, wiping away the tears in one eye, only to have one of the lower hanging oak branches snag her hair. With a snarl, Jahrra fought against it, that low burning rage suddenly erupting. Her anger grew and grew until she could hardly breathe. She screamed and cursed as she trampled over a pile of broken branches. She picked up one of the larger sticks and swung it about like a sword, hacking down the tall, wild grasses growing in the rolling field beside the Castle Guard Ruin. Jahrra lashed out at the world, at that stubborn sorrow that refused to let go, no matter how hard she tried to destroy it. And, when the anger finally burned off and she stood, her head hanging between her knees as she drew in deep breaths between the wracking sobs, she finally understood. She wasn’t angry at Kehllor for putting himself in danger, or at Jaax for taking Ciarrohn’s wrath in her stead. And she wasn’t angry at Aeron, the one who should have been there instead of Jaax.

  She was angry at herself. She had failed them. Failed to save Kehllor. Failed to save Jaax. No matter what everyone said to her, no matter how vehemently Denaeh and Ellyesce, Dervit and all of her other friends and allies claimed her to be the savior of Ethoes, she was to blame. It didn’t matter that she, in her one selfless act, had rid the world of a tyrant who would have destroyed everything good and wonderful. It still hadn’t been enough. Not for her, at least. Not nearly enough.

  Jahrra wiped her face clean, then turned to look at the tree. Her bottom lip trembling, she breathed, “It isn’t your fault, either. You’re probably just a baby, and didn’t know you were letting my friends’ spirits visit me.”

  Jahrra gave a small, almost maniacal laugh. She had lost her mind. Here she was, on the verge of dawn, comforting a tree because it wouldn’t, or couldn’t, summon the dead for her. Yes. She had finally snapped.

  Taking a deep breath, Jahrra walked over to the oak and patted it with her hand. “Thank you, at least, for letting me visit with Hroombra and Kehllor that one time.”

  Before her fingertips left the rough bark behind, a flash of memory pulsed through her mind. A vision of another oak tree, this one much, much bigger. Jahrra sucked in a sharp breath as realization bloomed. She flicked her eyes to the oak. A sapling, really. Just a sapling. But what might she see, who might she find, in the presence of the Sacred Oak itself? Ethoes above …

  Somewhere behind her, Phrym let out a soft nicker, but she ignored it. She wasn’t quite ready to leave, even though the young tree very well may have given her the answers she sought. Jahrra pressed her forehead against the rough bark of the oak, her arms wrapped around her middle as a glimmer of hope filled in the ache of emptiness her surge of anger had created. The Sacred Oak. She could go to the Sacred Oak in Crie and maybe, just maybe, she would find Jaax there.

  The rustle of fabric over the tall grass behind her had Jahrra turning her head in confusion. Surely, she had imagined the sound. The mist was still thick, but at some point in time the sun must have risen, for the darkness shrouding the world was no longer so deep. Another soft wisp of sound. This time, Jahrra turned to press her back to the tree, the effort sapping what little energy she had left. She was so tired. Perhaps, she could fall asleep beneath the oak for a while, and maybe she would see her lost friends in her dreams.

  In the end, Jahrra wasn’t that lucky. A snapped twig had her jerking to attention. She peered out into the dense fog to catch a dark shape manifesting through the mist. Tall, steps strong and sure, the figure moved towards her, his stride graceful and full of purpose, his green cloak unfurling and stirring the fog behind him like some phantom from her dreams. Recognition slammed into her, and she didn’t know whether to be grateful or irritated. She must have fallen asleep after all, for the figure closing in so swiftly was the green cloaked stranger who had often visited her dreams.

  Crossing her arms, Jahrra cocked her head to the side to regard him. He seemed more real this time, more substantial. The hood, like always, was pulled over his face, casting it in that perpetual shadow. Yet, something was different about him this time, as if that calm aura surrounding him had been tainted with unease.

  “Have you come to comfort me, then?” Jahrra asked. “As you did after the death of my parents and Hroombra?”

  Her voice was rough, accusing. Her tone daring him to try to cheer her up from her recent battle with the depression that tried so hard to drag her down. Would he place a comforting hand on her shoulder? Use his arm to direct her attention to some pleasant scene? Stand silently beside her as he had when she had those terrible nightmares after the death of her parents? This time, he did none of those things. He had been taking a step to move even closer to her, but paused at her words, his shoulders going stiff.

  “Offer you comfort? You would accept consolation from me?”

  It was Jahrra’s turn to go absolutely still, shock sparking through her veins like fire. She knew that voice. Had heard it echoing down the halls of the castle and just the other night over dinner. A chill skittered over her nerves, replacing her shock, followed quickly by a pulse of irritation. So, maybe she hadn’t completely purged herself of that anger just a few minutes ago, after all. Jahrra dropped her arms and took one step forward, aggression swirling around her like the mist, painting the world in hues of white and gray.

  “Remove your hood.” It was a rude command, but the man standing before her complied. He reached up with his hands and pulled back the cowl to reveal dark blond hair and a familiar face.

  Even though his voice had given him away, Jahrra drew in a sharp breath through her nose, her fingernails digging into her palms as her fists tightened.

  “You,” she hissed. “All this time, it was you!?”

  Her tone dripped with disgust, disbelief, along with that ever present outrage. She wasn’t asleep, after all. No. She was wide awake. The prince of Oescienne stood tall, his mouth curved in a frown, his brows drawn tight in bewilderment.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his own tone guarded.

  Jahrra laughed, a bitter, dry noise that rasped against her throat.

  “So, not a dream this time. If this isn’t the greatest case of irony,” she muttered to herself.

  “I would ask you again to explain what you mean,” Prince Aeron demanded, his tone still carefully clipped. Jahrra imagined it would have been sharper, perhaps, if he were talking to anyone else but her.

  “Never mind it,” she said, taking a step to the side and giving him a sidelong glance.

  He was faster as he moved to block her way.

  “Where are you going, Jahrra?”

  Jahrra snarled and fell back out of his reach. He was already too close for comfort. Even if he were half a continent away, he would be too cl
ose for comfort, she thought bitterly.

  “What do you care?” she retorted. “You don’t own me.”

  This time, his eyes narrowed, and his frown deepened. Good. He’d taken her words as the insult she meant them to be.

  “I never believed that,” he managed.

  “Then, let me pass. I must be on my way.”

  “Where are you going, Jahrra?” he asked again.

  “Go back to your castle and attend to your own business, and stay out of mine!” Jahrra moved again, this time her steps more aggressive.

  “Wait!” the prince cried as she managed to get past him.

  Jahrra increased the speed of her steps. “No! I am done speaking with you.”

  As soon as she returned to Oescienne Castle, she was packing her bags and leaving. She would travel to Crie, to see if the Sacred Oak could give her closure, offer her peace. After that, she didn’t know where she would go. Perhaps, she’d return to Lidien and enroll in the University again. She had enjoyed her life there with Torrell and Senton. Maybe Dathian and Haedron would move west, and they could all attend classes together. Or, maybe she’d travel up to Nimbronia and seek employment as a diplomat. She imagined the Creecemind dragons would consider the savior of Ethoes a good candidate for such an endeavor.

  “Jahrra, stop!” The prince’s words drew her to a halt. Not in obedience to him, but because something in the deep timbre of his voice in that moment compelled her to do so. An almost familiar tone . . . She squeezed her eyes shut against the prick of tears. Stupid, stupid emotions. She may have paused in her attempt at escape, but she did not turn to face him.

  When he spoke again, his words were a raspy plea. “Please. Don’t walk away from me.”

  Jahrra whirled around, no longer caught by that odd familiarity of his voice, but the appeal in those words.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “I don’t belong here anymore. I can’t live in the castle, perhaps, I can’t even live in Oescienne. And, I can’t find J-Jaax. His spirit is too far away. I have to try somewhere else. I have-I have to find him.”

  Jahrra did not mean to admit so much, but the words just came spilling out. She thought her heart could not shatter any further. But now that Aeron stood here before her, it all came roaring back again, like a raw wound reopened from too many careless movements. Her voice broke at the end of her tirade, as emotion clogged her throat and tears burned her eyes.

  No. Not again. I cannot succumb to this now, Jahrra thought miserably. That heavy, heavy grief that sometimes visited her in the night, dragging her so very deep it was a miracle it didn’t take her soul with it. She had to get away from there, away from the Castle Guard Ruin and the young oak tree, from the place with too many memories.

  She had grieved for them all, those she’d lost to the war, and she would miss them all. But, she would move on. Except for Jaax. She’d never get over losing Jaax, deep down in her heart, she knew that to be the truth. Even if she managed to find his spirit within the Sacred Oak in Crie, she couldn’t imagine letting him go. She had despised him for so many years, then learned to respect him, and eventually, came to trust him above everyone else. Gods. What was she going to do without him there to anchor her? To offer his blunt but steady advice? Who would push her to be stronger with each passing day? No. No. No. The rage had kept it all at bay, but now that it was dwindling, now that the wall of fire had burned down to coals, she had nothing left to keep that soul-deep anguish from consuming her.

  With all her barriers a shambles, she looked up at the prince of Oescienne and mustered enough strength to ask him once more that question he’d never really answered.

  “Where were you!?” she cried, her hands tight fists at her sides, her entire body shaking from the effort to keep upright. “When we were suffering, and fighting, and dying!”

  Prince Aeron acted, moving swiftly to stand just before her. Jahrra was too numb to jerk out of his way this time as he reached out and grasped her by her upper arms. She half expected him to shake her, to rattle some sense into her, but he didn’t.

  “I was there with you the entire time!” he rasped, his voice low and husky. “The entire time.”

  Jahrra huffed out a breath of outrage, the tears burning down her cheeks.

  “You liar!” she screeched, trying to break free of his hold.

  “No!” Aeron all but shouted, his fingers tightening and digging into her flesh. “Curse it, Jahrra, look at me! I’ve been in Oescienne for almost a fortnight, and you have avoided me like the plague. Every time I have tried to speak with you, you’ve run off with some excuse. You call me a coward, yet you are the one unwilling to let me explain. To let me in.”

  Jahrra jerked her head up, her eyes blazing with fury. “Let you in! What have I ever done to make you think I want you to be any part of my life?!”

  She finally managed to break free of him, tearing away and walking even faster towards Phrym. She would have run if she had the strength.

  A strong hand shot forward and gripped her wrist. Memories from a few nights ago slammed into her. She would have whipped around and punched him hard across the face again, aiming for the lingering bruise that still marred his features. But, she had dropped her eyes to the hand that kept her from making her escape, the glint of something metallic encircling his finger giving her pause. A ring. The ring she’d noticed him wearing the other night. Jahrra’s brow furrowed, though, as her closer proximity gave her a better chance to study it. A multi-faceted stone of blue, green, red, citrine, and topaz set in a familiar circle of silvery gold metal. Jahrra stopped breathing as confusion battled with the other emotions cart wheeling through her mind. Why was the pattern so familiar to her? And then, like the first rays of the morning sun spilling over the eastern hills, recognition pulsed through her. The rare metal twisting in a knotted pattern with the unique stone caught between a pair of dragons’ heads ...

  Jahrra’s eyes flashed up to the prince’s face, her own draining of color. His breathing had grown shallow, the fingers wrapped around her arm loosening their grip, his thumb easing up on her pulse as he drew it across her inner wrist in gentle strokes. Everything had shifted, and the world swayed beneath her feet. She couldn’t breathe, yet her heart slammed against her chest.

  No. No. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible …

  “Jahrra,” Aeron said again, his voice gentler, calmer, but brimming with entreaty. “Please, look at me. I need you to see me.”

  A hot tear streamed down her cheek, and the stubborn child inside her insisted she continue her resistance, but after a heartbeat, she drew in a ragged breath and asked, “Wh-where did you get that ring?”

  She still stared at it, willing the image caught in her mind to shimmer away and reveal a different pattern. But, no such thing happened. The augrim did not shift to gold, the spirit stone did not transform into a ruby or a sapphire or an emerald to signify the royal line of Oescienne.

  “Jahrra.”

  The prince’s voice was a caress now, and for the first time since meeting him, it did not make her burn with anger. Something was happening, something her conscious could not figure out fast enough, or did not dream to contemplate. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Jahrra turned up her face and finally, truly looked Aeron in the eye.

  He was so very handsome, this renegade prince of Oescienne, she had never denied that. With his dark golden hair, straight nose, and full lips. She had studied him several times from afar, allowing herself to admire his appearance but reminding herself also that it did not reflect his heart. If he had been noble and had done his part in the great battle against Ciarrohn, she might have eventually warmed up to him. And now, that wall of stubborn self-preservation had finally crashed down all around her.

  Aeron released her wrist and lifted both his hands, placing them gently on either side of her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. The movement brought them even closer, but she did not run this time. She couldn’t. Not when those
eyes were burning so fiercely, holding her in place. Green eyes laced with silver. Familiar eyes.

  “Look at me, Jahrra,” he said again. “Look beyond the surface you are so insistent upon judging me by. See what I’ve been so desperately trying to show you since that day the castle rose again.”

  Jahrra tried to back away from him, needing space to breathe. She had thought her emotions had been wrung dry. She had been utterly wrong.

  Prince Aeron kept a hold of her face, not letting her put that distance between them. Instead, he leaned in, lowering his head so that his mouth lingered just above her ear. When he spoke, his breath was warm against her skin, but it was his words that sent wracking shivers throughout her body.

  “Do you remember my vow to you? The one pledged in Dhonoara and upon the ramparts of Ciarrohn’s castle?” he whispered, the tip of his nose brushing her temple in a long, sweeping line. And then, his lips so close they traced the edge of her ear as he murmured, “Until my very last breath, Jahrra.”

  She gasped then, drawing in much needed air as her knees gave out. But the prince of Oescienne did not let her crash to the ground in a heap. Instead, he carried her down with him as he, too, fell to his knees. This time, she did not fight him. This time, she let her emotions pour forth unchecked. Not sorrow, not fear, not anger. Overwhelming disbelief and a joy so fierce it took all those shattered bits of her broken heart and fused them back together again. She cried, she laughed, she nearly choked as she drew air into her starved lungs.

  At some point, Aeron drew back, so he could see her face again.

  “Tell me, Jahrra,” he breathed, a smile lighting up his fine features, his hand gently lifting her chin so her eyes met his. Those beautiful, exuberant eyes. Not fierce or condescending this time. “Do you know me now?”

  “Y-yes,” Jahrra finally breathed, her voice raw. She blinked several times, willing the dizziness to pass, then lifted a trembling hand and placed it against the prince’s cheek, mirroring his own on hers. “Yes.”

  And, those emerald eyes shone so fierce in the pallid morning light. So fierce and wrought with emotion.