Minstrel's Serenade

by Aubrie Dionne

  Several more men stepped in, carrying bags of metal on their backs. Bron’s arms ached just thinking about how much more that metal weighed than the rice. He straightened, knowing he had to set a good example for the boy. “I’ll take the cart.”

  The three rat-men handed Bron the rope and he pulled the cart forward. Audible gasps rang out around him as the rat-men stepped back. Valorian gave him an admonishingly weary look. “Haven’t you hauled enough today?”

  Bron smiled, finally feeling as though he had a say in these discussions. “I can handle this.” The load wasn’t as heavy as he’d imagined. Besides, warriors never complained.

  Chapter 17

  Letters

  The albinos knew the caverns and tunnels like Danika knew the secret corridors of her father’s inner keep. Circumventing the cave in, the pale-faced men and women brought them to the surface in mere hours without waking a single peeper mouse or bittle bat.

  As the light from the end of the tunnel came into view, the albinos stayed back in the shadows and set down the packs of metal at their feet.

  Oster bowed, pulling his hood over his pale features. “This is as far as we can travel, Your Highness.”

  Danika bowed. “You’ve done so much to help us. I wish our people could overcome the differences separating us and establish trade venues.”

  Oster waved his pale fingers and soil-crusted nails. “Prejudice is a powerful evil and will take more than a mere load of metal to overcome.”

  Danika thought of the temple monks and their exclusion of Halfast’s tale. “At least your peace offering opens the door to reason, if but a crack.”

  The sun’s rays grew stronger behind them, and the line of shadows drew back.

  “We’ll see.” The rat-man backed deeper into the darkness, and Danika knew their time together was at an end.

  She raised her voice so Oster and all the others could hear. “We will return your kindness by protecting the borders of our shared lands.”

  Oster’s voice echoed down the shaft. “So be it. May Halfast’s light show you the way.”

  It took them an hour to haul the metal to the sunlight and load the carriage. The horses had dined on the fine, thin grasses by the lake in their absence, and they moved with restless grace.

  Danika and Valorian took the lead, choosing the path for Bron and Nip as they carted their shipment behind them. The heavier load forced them to move at a slower pace, circumventing the deep forest in a southeasterly direction toward Ebonvale. Danika made use of the relaxed stride to lure more information from Valorian.

  He’d sent piles of letters over the years. Letters she hadn’t answered, many of them lying unread. Perhaps if she’d reached out, even once, they’d be companions rather than acquaintances. An uneasy current spread through her gut as she played with the idea of turning back time. She’d be a different person, a different leader, and she was proud of who she’d become.

  Danika glanced over to Valorian as he rode with nimble ease, poised and proud in his saddle like a true prince. “Why did you send so many letters?” Her voice came out softer and more vulnerable than she would have liked. Valorian’s hands fidgeted with the reins. His features grew guarded, as if he debated between telling her a sweet nothing or the stone, cold truth. “Because my father told me to.”

  Danika nodded solemnly. She’d suspected such an answer, but didn’t think he’d give in to total honesty. Reality slapped her in the face, and a sliver of disappointment cut through her heart. She thought his advances of late had had some ring of truth, that he’d felt something for her. Hearing about his adherence to duty made him more real, someone she could relate to. Ironically, the truth drew her toward him even more.

  Valorian pulled on his reins, turning his horse toward hers, stopping them both. “For many years I sought you out of duty. My father lectured me endlessly on how our two kingdoms would benefit from joining. I believed in his ideal of a strong union, so I wrote to you out of my love for my father, out of love for the House of Song and all the minstrel kingdom represents.”

  He grabbed her reins and pulled her closer toward him. Their horses sniffed in annoyance, then obeyed. “Now it’s much, much more. I had no idea how beautiful and strong-minded you are, how your courage is inspired by a deep love for Ebonvale and how you fight for its security.”

  Danika’s heart sped and every moment flew by too fast to grasp. She wanted to hold onto each word, studying these new, blossoming feelings. “Valorian--”

  “Danika, you’re everything I’ve sought without knowing it.” He reached forward and grasped her hand, squeezing her palm as if he could hold her next to him forever. “I know now.”

  The wheels creaked as the carriage rounded the bend, spooking their horses apart. They broke contact. Danika regained control of her reins and pulled a safe distance away, not wanting Bron to see them so close. Valorian gave her one last longing look, then continued forward.

  Danika sat on her steed, unmoving, processing what had just happened. Valorian had so much as professed his love for her in a matter of seconds, turning her entire world around. She could no longer ignore and delay their relationship and what their union meant for Ebonvale. Their quest was almost at an end.

  “Something the matter, Princess?” Bron had caught up, waking her from her trance. Nip had fallen asleep in his arms and snored peacefully, leaving the two of them to speak freely.

  “We’re almost home.” Danika looked away as a surge of melancholy hit her. “So much is going to change.”

  “Aye.” Bron’s face was stoic, his tender mouth solemn. “But, some things will never change.”

  Danika snapped to attention, studying the warrior’s scarred face. What meaning did his words have? Their relationship would never change. His and her duties would never change. His feelings for her would never change. So many possibilities sat unspoken between them. If he wanted her to know, it would be better to say his feelings now than in the castle, full of listening ears and fluttering tongues.

  She opened her mouth to ask but Bron had already snapped the reins, spurring the horses pulling the carriage forward. He spoke over his shoulder. “Ebonvale awaits.”

  The castle’s ivory turrets poked through the tree line up ahead, decorated by Ebonvale’s purple and green flags fluttering in the breeze. A wash of emotions came over Danika. It was the only home she’d ever known. First and foremost, she thought of her father and his big, gentle hands full of callouses and scars from battle, his scratchy beard and his emerald eyes--eyes she’d inherited from him. She remembered how he had gazed at her with fondness, as if she was the only thing in the world that brought him happiness.

  Then she thought of her mother. Since seeing her in the forest, her emotions had morphed from confusion and hate to pity and maybe more. She still had to sort those feelings out, and she didn’t know where she’d end up. Danika sighed, riding down a path into the valley of orchards where she and her mother used to walk. It didn’t matter, because she’d probably never see her again.

  As apple and pear trees surrounded them, Danika’s thoughts turned to Bron and all the mornings he’d spent training her against her parents’ wishes. If only they’d known she’d need that training more than ever when they were gone. He’d come to the castle when she was still a young girl, but he’d made a lasting impression from the first time she saw him fight so bravely on the tournament field. He’d given her so much by believing in her abilities, by teaching her that a girl—now a woman--could fight as well as any man. How could she look at Ebonvale and not think of Bron?

  As they neared villagers collecting ripened fruit in baskets, she pulled her hood over her face. Her dusty, dirt-stained travel clothes provided the best disguise. She would appear as the princess’ messenger and nothing more.

  The orchards tapered off into a golden field of wheat. Up ahead, the stone walls of the palisade rose with archers positioned at even intervals throughout.

  Valorian pulled back on his r
eins. “I can go no further.”

  Danika halted by his side, a warm breeze caressing her cheek. “You’re not going to come in? At least for a day to rest?”

  He smiled. “I wish I could.” His gaze traveled to the busy gateway bustling with traders, villagers and castle dignitaries. “Let’s just say minstrels are not highly regarded in Ebonvale at this time.” His eyes grew mischievous. “Someday, I’d like to change that.”

  Bron’s carriage caught up, and he and Nip jumped out. Valorian dismounted and walked to them, offering his hand. “My journey takes a different path. I will return to the House of Song and prepare our minstrel army, bringing my father news of our success and what is to come.”

  “Very well.” Bron took his hand. “You have proved yourself a worthy ally, and I commend your abilities, as well as express my gratitude again for saving my life.”

  Valorian bowed his head. “You are a truly courageous and honorable man. Your respect is enough.”

  Bron nodded but frowned as if he didn’t believe him. Danika wondered why the fact Valorian had saved his life irked him so.

  Nip dug into his shirt and pulled out the pendant Valorian had given him in the forest. The boy bowed. “This belongs to you.”

  Valorian accepted it, placing the cord around his neck. “Thank you for guarding it, son. Someday you may have one of your own.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re in good hands. Be good and we’ll meet again.”

  Bron lifted Nip to the carriage and climbed in after him. He nodded to Danika. “We’d best be on our way to deliver this metal to the forge. Say your goodbye in peace.”

  The carriage hobbled away. Why did Bron leave her with the minstrel when just two days ago he was reluctant to wake him? Had he given up? Surrendered himself and her to her rightful fate? No. She couldn’t believe he’d abandon her or else she’d lost him as a confidant and friend. Perhaps he was concerned about bringing the metal to the forge. Aye, that’s all it was.

  She dismounted and approached Valorian. His silver eyes held a swirl of emotions: fondness, melancholy and a special sparkle reserved for her. She touched the new scars on his face. His skin was no longer flawless, but she thought him handsomer because of the scars. “Thank you for saving Bron.”

  He threaded his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “I have to admit, I didn’t think he was alive. But, you were right. Your persistence saved his life, not I.”

  Danika paused. The next she’d see him they would be going into battle. There wouldn’t be another moment like this. “I was wrong about you. I’m sorry I never returned your letters.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.” He leaned his head down and his nose brushed against hers. She opened her lips slightly. Doubt and a fierce loyalty to Bron kept her from leaning forward to kiss him.

  “If you do not try, you’ll never know,” he whispered.

  Danika rose on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips against his. So soft, so smooth, so gentle, so sweet. Valorian kissed her back with restraint and respect. She was a princess, and he a prince. A long, drawn-out courtship should have taken place before they even touched. Danika pulled away, still digesting her feelings. A life with Valorian meant many things, good and bad. She’d live in the House of Song and follow in her mother’s footsteps by moving to a new kingdom through marriage and by choosing a minstrel lover. Most of all, choosing Valorian meant leaving Ebonvale and Bron.

  Valorian smiled, but it was sad. “Farewell, Princess. A long journey awaits both of us. I hope to see you at the end.”

  She knew he hoped they’d be together, but she couldn’t promise him anything. Danika had a lot to think about and very little time.

  Chapter 18

  Stewardess of Ebonvale

  Emotions running rampant, Danika ascended the large, table-wide stone steps to her castle. A middle-aged woman carrying a basket of apples hobbled to her left, and two farm kids darted past her, weaving in and out of the crowd in a game of tag. A temple monk hummed as he marched to her right, his face and shaved head painted with ancient symbols. Silver offerings tied to the end of his staff clinked with each step. He smelled of smoke and incense, drawing Danika to turn toward him. The monk locked eyes and stared as if he could see the shape of her soul.

  She pulled her hood further around her face and increased her pace, shuffling behind a young castle archer with a bow slung over his shoulder. The travelers formed a line, waiting for the guards to grant them entrance into the main keep.

  A guard that had worked for her father for many years held out his hand. “Reason for business, or your pass, ma’am.”

  While hiding her face in her hood, Danika dug into the folds of her cloak and brought out a silver emblem of a horse and rider, the emblem of the royal messenger. The guard nodded once and moved to the older woman carrying apples.

  Once through the main gate, Danika picked up her long cloak to free her legs and jogged through the courtyard. She passed the fountain and, like always, the airborne dolphins and mermaids brought memories of her mother and the minstrel on that fateful night. The familiar gurgle of water whispered to her and the scent of cherry blossoms rode the wind, bringing fond memories as well, mostly those of her father bringing her flowers from the training field or a sparkly rock from the upturned earth caused by battle. She was finally home.

  After presenting the messenger symbol repeatedly, she climbed the spiral stairway to the main throne room. Familiar paintings of her relatives and ancestors greeted her as she passed. Her father’s rigid features belied the kindness in his eyes as he stood in his prime with his sword perpetually raised, clad in shining armor. Her mother’s soft, round face, ivory skin and velvet shawl showed a much earlier time before fate turned her into a scavenger of the woods.

  If only Danika had known then what she knew now.

  Danika paused by her mother’s sweet picture. Would she have still left?

  Between the paintings of her mother and father lay the former Queen of Ebonvale, Islador. Danika had never noticed how the first wife’s painting was the largest and the only frame gilded in gold with rubies and emeralds clustered at every corner. Her face shone like an angel mixed with a temptress, with star-white hair and entrancing, sapphire eyes. She was gorgeous, and now the extent of the golden slippers her mom had been forced to fill was more evident. Sybil had failed because Danika’s father had never moved Islador’s painting. The dead queen still claimed her right by his side, as if she’d entranced him in a spell besting death.

  Tapestries depicting her father’s glory over the dead army of Sill covered the walls as she rounded the bend. On the right, he rode a black horse, leading Ebonvale’s Royal Guard. On the left, he swung his sword, slicing a putrefied soldier of the dead in half. One battle after another in a long slew covered the extent of his campaign with precise detail down to the rotting faces and hollow eyes of the enemy and the gleaming silver of the guards’ raised swords.

  Her mother’s words had skewed everything Danika knew about the past. Her father had disappeared often over the years, and she had only seen them together on formal occasions. Her mother had been a pet, confined in the castle like a bird in a cage. How could Danika have been so blind? Having no time for further ruminations, she took a right turn and reached the throne room, throwing open the massive oaken doors.

  The tiles in the marble floor depicted the galaxy above, with swirling cosmic clouds and glinting stars of mica. The artist’s work represented Ebonvale’s never-ending reach throughout the world, stretching throughout the universe. At the center of the cosmos stood three thrones made from the pillars of Helena’s and Horred’s temple before the dead army stomped their palace to ruins. The ancient, cracked ivory was carved with stony ivy and large winged butterflies climbing the sides.

  Only one throne, the smaller one between the king’s and queen’s, was occupied. Several handmaidens holding fans and trinkets stood or sat around it. One of them plunked on a harpsichord in the center of the room,
singing in a high-pitched, child-like voice.

  Danika entered, and the handmaidens parted, revealing a woman wearing a gown of golden silk trimmed with black lace. She rose abruptly and clicked her silver heels, sending all her handmaidens scurrying away.

  She gestured toward Danika and invited her forward. “Come.”

  Cords were draped around the woman’s neck, holding the pendants of Helena’s sword and Horred’s hammer. A veil punctured by pearls at even intervals covered her face. Her long blond hair was pinned and braided in a severe bun on top of her head.

  Danika bowed, her face almost touching the floor. “My Highness.”

  “It’s about time you’ve returned.” The princess waited until every handmaiden and guard had left. When the doors closed, she pulled Danika to her feet and wrapped her arms around her. “I thought I’d lost you and I’d have to pose as Princess for the rest of my damned life.”

  “Sorry, Muriel.” Danika hugged her, glad to have some female company after so many days with a boy and two men. “Much has happened.”

  Muriel ruffled her gown. “Come. Let us discuss this in your quarters where I can shed this awful monstrosity.”

  Danika wasn’t looking forward to her old life or wearing the hideous gowns her mother had instated for the Ebonvale women royalty at court. The ensemble’s only logical use was hiding her long absences when she rode off on her adventures. After such a long journey, britches and cloaks felt more comfortable.

  They scampered behind the triple thrones to an alcove in the back, where pigeons flew into the rafters and golden sunlight trickled down from windows high above. Muriel pulled the dress over her head, exchanging clothes with Danika. Her handmaiden’s features were blunter, her nose bigger, and her eyes smaller, but they had the same honey-colored hair and small stature. Their clothes fit nicely on one another, allowing Muriel to assume the throne when needed.