The Girl from the North (Pathway of the Chosen Book 1)

by Cat Bruno

  Drawing a deep breath and with his head hanging almost to his chest, Willem exhaled and said, barely above a whisper, “He calls her Kingmaker.”

  “Rexaria?”

  “Yes. Although, I only know what Bronwen will share with me, and I suspect that there is much that she has kept to herself. I have asked myself for the last few moon years what it could be that has sparked his interests in her. And if his finding her was more plan than chance. Yet, I am not so brave as to ask Lord Conri what his plans are, nor do I believe that Bronwen herself knows,” Willem uttered, relieved to finally be able to share his concerns, although it still seemed strange to whom he was confessing.

  “And so Bronwen is Conri’s Rexaria. Yet, their child is female. Much is still unknown it seems,” Aldric replied.

  While Aldric had been talking, Willem had poured himself a glass of a sweet-smelling ale. When he noticed Aldric staring at the glass, Willem offered his apologies and swiftly handed Aldric his own glass. Aldric put the glass under his nose before tasting it, curious about the liquid that filled it as he had never before seen an ale so pale, and was surprised at the pleasant, floral aroma that greeted him. But when he sipped the elixir, he gasped and choked, overcome as it burned down his throat, tears forming in his eyes.

  Willem noticed and laughed, shouting over his coughing fit, “Ah! So the dark mage can’t handle his ale, I see.”

  Aldric sputtered out, “Ale? This is no ale! What have you given me? Poison?”

  A look of dread crossed Aldric’s face, fear and hatred burning a bright trail over his sharp features. Before he could stop himself his hands were raised and the fire was starting to burn once again. His movements did not escape Willem’s notice, and, much to Aldric’s dismay, the Rexterran laughed again, louder this time, as he raised his own hands. Unlike Aldric, he did not raise them in a spell-lock, but merely to wave off Aldric from continuing.

  “I have given my word, have I not? Chien will not be pleased when I tell her that you feel her best ale tastes like poison! Sit back, Aldric. I have done no harm. I am drinking it myself if you had not noticed.”

  With continued coughing and watery eyes, Aldric tried to relax. Before he lifted the glass to his lips, he watched as Willem refilled his own crystal glass and downed the powerful drink in one long swallow. When he had finished, he held the empty glass up for Aldric to inspect.

  Moving to another chair, Willem sighed. “Bronwen is a talented healer, one of the best here, to be sure, rivaling even old Rova himself. Yet none know who she really is. Not even I. Over ten moon years ago, she arrived here, with no memory and alone. Since then, she has been at the Academy, no different than any of the other students here. Well, I guess that is no longer entirely true.”

  Following Willem’s lead, Aldric raised his elbow and dumped the contents of his glass down the back of his throat, allowing the drink to heat him from the inside, his stomach churning with fire. Willem smiled and refilled both glasses, nodding his head with less control than he had had earlier in the evening. Trying to catch up, although he did not know why, as he rarely frequented the pubs and inns that dotted Cordisia, Aldric downed the second glass as quickly. As he finished it, a long, slow hiss escaped from his lips, slicing through the moist air between the two men.

  “Tell me again what you know of Conri?” Aldric asked.

  Willem rolled his head to the side and gently closed his eyes, leaning back into the matching chair of the one that Aldric had destroyed, while Aldric crossed the room, righted the fallen chair, and sunk into it.

  “I do not scare easily, mage, but I fear the High Lord, and what he has planned for Bronwen. To be truthful, I wish I had never done as he asked, yet he left me little choice. If I were a stronger man, a braver man, I would leave with her. Take her from this place, run as far and as fast as we could. Hide her from him, from the future that he sees in her. Do you think it could work, Aldric? Would we be able to hide from a son of the darkness?”

  Aldric, feeling the effects of the strong liquor, replied, louder than he had intended, “No, he would find you. Again and again. What is hidden to one born in the dark? Nothing. She is marked. For what purposes I do not know, but hope to come to understand. Maybe we are not to try to alter her course, but, rather, to help her. Have you ever wondered why she was brought here, to the Academy, and, ultimately, to you?”

  “She was hurt, quite badly, when first she came. Perhaps he only wanted her to be healed.”

  “Willem, we both know that Lord Conri could have brought her anywhere, even healed her himself, if that was what he so desired. There must be some other reason.”

  “I don’t disagree, Aldric, and have often wondered myself. Once Conri found me, I foolishly believed that she was here because of me. But, lately, I know that I am nothing more than a passing mention in the story of her life. She was not brought to me. I was brought to her.”

  When Aldric looked to Willem, he noticed that he had opened his eyes and was taken aback to see how much emotion lay unhidden in his gold-rimmed eyes.

  With his words slightly slurring, Willem said, “Perhaps you are right and I am no more than a typical, old Rexterran in love with a charming young woman, yet it is not me who she wants.” Pointing at Aldric, Willem continued, “You need not look at me like that, mage. I have made choices that have brought me to this place. And where once I was kin to kings, now I am in love with a Kingmaker. And will aid her however I must. What of you, sir? What role do you seek to serve?”

  While he realized that Willem still had not directly answered his questions, Aldric felt some affection for the man, connected to him, as if they shared a journey, one that was only just beginning. His skin grew chilled, despite the heat in his stomach and the warmth of the tropical air, and the hairs of his arms stiffened, as if in agreement.

  “I do not yet know where I fit, but I believe that I am meant to be here. When I first met Bronwen, it felt as if I had come home. As if I had found what I had long searched for, through all my travels. Moon years spent as a mercenary and here I am, beholden to a girl I have just met.”

  Then, with a voice thick with emotion and drink, he added, “Willem, I vow to you that I will not harm her, not this one. Not Bronwen. Nor her daughter.”

  Raising his eyes until his dark ones met the gold-rimmed eyes of Willem, Aldric continued, “I give you my word, if you will trust the word of a mage with a darkened soul.”

  The air was heavy in the room, humid and lush, and the two men, drunk and emotion-filled, eyed each other uncomfortably, each knowing the gravity of what they shared, eyes glistening, the ale strong in both of them.

  To break the silence and to ease the tension, Willem simply nodded at the other man. Then, he clumsily reached for the small brass bell that sat on a gilded table beside him, shaking it as he had done so many times before, letting a joyful clang echo throughout the room and down the long hallway. Even though his head was beginning to spin and his vision was clouding, Aldric couldn’t help but notice the delicate, dark-haired woman who glided into the room, her head slightly dipped. She walked soundlessly and he blinked away the blurriness, recognizing the woman as the one from earlier.

  She wore a long, flowing, red skirt that brushed the floor as she walked, tucked into the skirt was a loose, pale-green blouse. A darker green ribbon was tied about her waist and hung the length of the skirt, ending just above her ankles. Her dark hair was pulled atop her fair face in a style that allowed Aldric to identify her as a foreigner, from lands that he had never visited. Eastern lands, he assumed, without fully glancing at her hidden face.

  When she reached the side of Willem’s chair, she lifted her head, black eyes clear and crisp, and asked softly, “Sir, would you like me to clean up this mess?”

  He waved her gaze away from the chair and while his arm swung about, Willem glanced toward Aldric and settled his steely eyes on the mage, watching him as he watched Chien. When Aldric finally realized that he was being eyed, it was too late, and
Willem wore a grin as wide as his face.

  “Chien, my dear, let me introduce you to a new friend of mine. A most interesting man, although I’m afraid that he hasn’t yet acquired a fondness for your ale.”

  He stood unsteadily and swayed as he walked toward Aldric. “This is Aldric Dannovska, who has traveled across Cordisia to find us.”

  The woman bowed, with her hands pressed together in front of her, then rose, but she kept her eyes guarded, downcast, and offered him a small reply of welcome.

  “It grows late, Aldric, and we have much to discuss tomorrow. Chien, will you show Aldric to one of the guest rooms, please?”

  Willem turned toward Aldric and said, “Please accept my hospitality, and let us continue our discussion after a night’s rest. I think it wise for you to stay far from the Academy, Aldric.”

  With those parting words, Willem stumbled from the room, forgetting for a moment which way to turn before heading away from the room where they had been earlier. Aldric drew himself up, clumsily, and followed as Chien led him toward where they had started the evening. She walked gracefully, her long skirts billowing behind her as she floated down the hallway, her slippered feet soundless on the marble tiles. When they walked by the room with the mural, Aldric paused, looking once again at the girl. Chien slowed, then stopped, waiting for him.

  When she noticed where he looked, she said, “She haunts me, that one. But Master Ammon loves her.”

  “She is shadowed, yet still she shines. There are few like her, but her battle will not be an easy one, I fear,” he replied, with little doubt to the truth of his words, despite his drunkenness.

  Chien smiled, a serene, humble look that spread across her face. Aldric felt his cheeks blazing and could do little to stop the redness from spreading down his neck. It had been a long time, too long, since he had last been with a woman. And although there were often women about the mercenary camps, it was not his way to part with coin.

  Aldric dropped his head and nodded to her, indicating that she should continue. After a long moment where he had to bite his lip to stop his shaking, she moved on, softly rocking from side to side. When she reached a closed door to her right, she paused.

  “Here is your room, sir. Ring the small bell if you need anything,” Chien offered, before bowing her head once again.

  She hesitated and stood there waiting, for what he was not sure, but the ale was thick in him, and he feared what little control he had remaining, so he turned open the door and hurried in, mumbling a quick good-night before closing the door on the beautiful, exotic woman who waited on the other side.

  45

  She could taste the night’s air, salty on her tongue, stinging her cheeks, and tousling her hair across her face. Words hung in her throat, tickling and scratching at her, but she could not speak. Not yet. Instead, Bronwen simply breathed, quietly. She was only steps from the shoreline, and the tide was receding, playful under the moon’s watch. Already overwhelmed by what had occurred at Willem’s, Bronwen hung her head and waited.

  When she had left the villa, she was uncertain about what to choose or if she had any part in the decision that would be made. Yet, she had come to the beach. Without fear and on her own accord, which told her much.

  He had not approached and stood staring at the sea, which unsettled Bronwen. His back was to her and his arms were crossed at his chest, and, briefly, he appeared as any other man. Had he been, Bronwen was sure that her heart would not be thumping so loudly against her tunic.

  For several moments, Conri did not move or turn to face her. When her patience wore thin, Bronwen walked toward him until she stood only steps behind him. Yet, she did not raise her eyes nor did she address him. She had known that he would be here, had known from the moment the girl had disappeared. But, now that she was here, Bronwen’s thoughts were no longer clear and her confidence waned.

  Suddenly, she called, “Have you met her, Conri?”

  The way he turned on his heels to look at her proved to Bronwen that the wind and turf had not silenced her words.

  In one long stride, Conri was upon her, and, in a chillingly crisp voice, he howled, “So at last he will get what he has wanted.”

  The air tingled around him, thundering through the sky and rolling over the dunes until it wrapped around Bronwen’s body, and she shook and shivered although the night was not cool. His words offered little explanation, yet Bronwen expected no less.

  “Are you certain that it was her?” he asked, quietly.

  Bronwen wailed, “I watched three grown men doze off like babes at the breast, then saw a girl appear from a painting. Just step right from the wall, like a ghost. Then, this same girl who I could see but could not touch tells me that she is my daughter! And not just my daughter, but yours as well. I am certain of nothing.”

  Conri ran his long slender fingers through his shiny, black hair, and Bronwen noticed that it hung longer than the last time that she had seen him, falling past his shoulders. He was a handsome man: elegant, smooth, and nearly flawless. Yet, darkness clung to him, and he wore it as both armor and skin.

  He fixed the collar of his long coat, much too thick and plush for Litusia, and said, “Bronwen, I know very little about the girl. Much less than you, it seems. And, although I am capable of much, traveling to a distant future is not a skill that I have acquired. Nor has she visited me. However, I do not doubt what you said occurred. And I will admit to wondering what must have happened to cause her to take such a risk. You must tell me exactly what happened and what was said.”

  To her, it seemed as if Conri was unsettled, anxious, and ill at ease. Yet, she believed that he had spoken truly and that the girl had not visited him, despite his knowledge of her. Without pause, she told him all that she could remember about the girl, letting the story tumble from her lips, rushing her words until he reached for her arm, begging her to slow down. As she spoke, Bronwen watched Conri’s eyes, a strange emotion captured in the violet, velvety depths. When she was nearly finished, she hesitated, uncertain if she should mention what was hidden beneath her long tunic, tucked into the healer’s bag tied about her waist.

  When she nervously reached under her shirt to feel for the bag, her lips parted and her eyes closed. Her daughter’s face swirled in her mind, shimmering and shining, her enchanting green eyes rimmed in light. The girl had been stunning, a creature like no one Bronwen had ever seen, tall and thin, dark hair, of a shade similar to Conri’s, yet dipped in the red hues common throughout Eirrannia. Like her grandfather.

  With a cry, she exclaimed, “She said she looks like my father.”

  Her words, suddenly remembered, were startling ones, more so because Bronwen still could not recall anything of her own parents. Yet the girl implied that she knew them, or of them, just as she had suggested that others said she resembled Bronwen’s father. Half-shaking, she looked to him and asked, “How can it be that she knows of my father?”

  Whispered lightly into the wind, he answered, “I have no answers for you. The girl knows more than I, it seems.”

  “She will be Eirrannian, Conri,” Bronwen called, emotion cracking through her words.

  “And she will be Tribe.”

  His words, even spoken gently, were a reminder, a harsh one, Bronwen knew.

  “Roim a faidh, an taoh se eirgh.”

  Turning toward her, his eyes blazing black, he howled, “What do you know of such words?”

  Without fear, she said, “That they will be in her battle cry.”

  His silence was answer enough.

  Bronwen loved the girl, unquestionably, more deeply than she would have ever imagined possible, despite their strange meeting. Still, there was a chance that the girl might never come to be. None but she could choose.

  Conri noticed the sudden shift and stepped in front of her, willing her to look at him. “There is more. What is it?”

  Bronwen could not look up, and when he tilted her chin up and her eyes settled on his, she whispered, “She ga
ve me something and said that it was a gift from you.”

  He reeled away from her then, his deep voice rumbling with uncontrolled emotion, “How can that be? She was nothing but a vision! Mage-sight, nothing more. For her to time-walk is difficult enough. Are you certain, Bronwen? Such a thing is nearly impossible.”

  It was then that Bronwen knew she must decide. Either keep the truth from him or confide it all, letting her path lead where it might. As much as she wanted to run from what or whom it was that had set her about this task, she longed to see her daughter again, and, without Conri, she never would.

  Remembering the girl, especially the gentle smile that had crossed her face before she had faded, Bronwen knew what her choice would be, and she gently lifted her tunic, untying the string that kept her healer’s bag closed. As delicately as she could, Bronwen lifted the sheathed dagger from her pouch, holding it by the smooth, unadorned hilt.

  With no hesitation, she removed the scabbard, exposing the glistening black blade that shined brighter than the stars that hung overhead.

  Conri gasped, jumping back, instinctively. “Bronwen, do you know what it is that you hold?”

  Stepping back further, he continued, “Sheathe the blade, Bronwen.”

  She hesitated and looked directly at him for the first time all night.

  “Is that fear in your voice, Conri?”

  “Bronwen, this is not a time for games! I’m surprised that you can even bear to hold the weapon at all. It is not fit for untrained hands.”

  Now she hesitated, afraid to trust him, and said, “My hands are fine, and it feels no different than the small knife I use for cutting herbs. Conri, why would you want her to have such a thing?”