"I think, sweet Bridin, that I was helped by a fairy. Somehow."
She closed her eyes again, smiling slightly. "Mother," she whispered.
"Yes."
Sighing deeply, she nodded. "Thank you, Tristan. You're always there when I need you."
"And I always will be. You're my most cherished enemy, you know."
Her smile widened as she thought how appropriately he'd put it. "And you're mine." Slumber crept into her soul in deep blue velvet waves, though Bridin fought it.
"That's it," Tristan whispered. "Sleep now. I'll be near when you wake."
So she slept.
Chapter Fourteen
She had little way of knowing how much time passed as she slipped in and out of a soul-deep sleep. She only knew that every time she woke, Tristan was there beside her. Feeding her that silly broth, or fluffing her pillows or brushing her hair. Scooping her off her feet to carry her to the bathroom when it was necessary. Bathing her with a sponge and a basin of warm water when she needed it. She knew it had been daylight, and dark again more than once. She knew she'd been ill with fever and chills and a wracking cough that seemed as if it would tear her in two. And she knew that no matter what time of day or night she stirred, Tristan would be there by her side.
So it seemed very strange when she woke this time—to a sharp, lucid state for a change—and found him gone.
Blinking her eyes clear, Bridin sat up slowly and tried to take stock. She felt better. Clearer, and not hindered by the recent foggy state of her mind. More like herself than she'd felt since being attacked by that unnatural wave springing to life from the water's formerly calm surface.
Physically she felt better, too. Her head wasn't pounding like before, and the soreness in her throat had eased a great deal. Her limbs no longer ached as if they'd been pounded by a large hammer.
She was well again. That brew Tristan had been spooning into her day and night must have helped. But so had his constant care. He'd coddled her as if she were a small, fragile child. As if he were utterly devoted to her.
Imagine that.
It all made very little sense to Bridin. Of course, he'd wanted her well, since he saw her as his only chance of regaining the throne of Rush. The tenderness in his caring, though, that was beyond explanation. But then, she'd been terribly groggy. Perhaps she'd only imagined the emotion in his eyes.
She was in her room, where she'd been since that first time she'd regained consciousness. Her satin robe hung on the bed's corner post, and she sat straighter, dropped her feet to the cool floor, and reached for it. Now that she was healthy again, she couldn't waste any more time. So much time had slipped away from her already. She needed to find Tristan, and find out whether he'd heard from Tate yet. She was more than slightly concerned for Marinda's well-being, as well as the state of things back in Rush. Her people had waited a very long time for her to return to lead them to freedom from Sharan rule. It wasn't good that they remained subjugated to it while she languished in a soft bed being waited on and coddled.
She got to her feet slowly, waiting a moment to see how it felt. Her legs buckled a bit, but she forced them straight, held to the bed for support. A wave of dizziness receded once she'd stood still for a moment. She pulled her robe on and tied the sash tightly. Then she walked toward the door. Her feet seemed to prefer scuffing to actual stepping, but she managed to make it to her destination. It was as she pulled the door open that she heard voices, speaking softly from below. Pressing one hand to the wall to steady herself, Bridin moved along the corridor and then, very carefully, made her way down the stairs. And as she did, the voices grew clearer.
"The people are suffering incredibly, Tristan. Your brother is merciless."
That was Tate's voice. So he'd returned with his report, then. Bridin eased herself a few steps farther downward, and then, out of strength, she sat down on the stairway and just listened.
"You don't have to tell me of Vincent's lack of honor," Tristan said. "I know it well."
"He's taxing them so heavily, there's nothing left. Taking huge portions of their crops, demanding the craftsmen of the village supply him as well as his troops with all the armor and weaponry they need free of charge. He's doing the same to the clothiers, and the saddle makers and the horse breeders. Takes all he needs and then some, leaving them with no reward, and no means to make up the losses."
Bridin leaned forward, only to see Tristan's stricken face as this news was passed along.
"The people are impoverished," Tate went on. "The ill go untreated. Children go hungry."
"Gods, it's a nightmare," Tristan muttered.
"Oh, but it gets far worse, my lord. The blame for all of this suffering is being placed squarely upon the shoulders of the lady Bridin."
Bridin gasped at his words, and both men turned abruptly. Tristan came to her at a run, taking the stairs by twos until he reached her and gathered her up into his arms.
"What are you doing up?" he asked, carrying her down the remaining steps. "You should be resting."
"I'm better now, Tristan. Please, put me down. I can walk on my own."
He did put her down, but not until he'd reached the only chair in the front hall. He lowered her gently into it, snatching a blanket from its back and tucking it around her.
"Gods, what's happened here?" Tate asked.
"Bridin was nearly drowned three days ago."
"Three days?" She looked up into Tristan's eyes. "Has it been that long?"
He only nodded. "Go on, Tate. I'm sure Bridin wants to hear the explanation for this as badly as I do. How has my treacherous brother managed to lay the blame for his cruelty on her?"
Tate sighed hard, shaking his head and pacing the floor. "He made a public address shortly after the two of you made your escapes. He called on Bridin's followers to find her and turn her over to him. Promised she'd be treated mercifully, but also promised that until she surrendered to him, her people would suffer his wrath in her place. He's convinced most of the villagers that she knows of his actions and has abandoned them—that she's living a life of luxury somewhere while allowing her people to suffer for her wrongs, in her place."
"Wrongs? But, Tate, what wrongs am I to be punished for?"
Tristan sighed hard, and dropped to one knee beside her chair, clasping her hands in his. "Bridin... that dawn, before you attacked the castle... there were raids, led by a woman who was chosen for her resemblance to you."
"Raids?"
He nodded. "My brother had his men dress in the garb of the forest dwellers and chose a harlot with long, golden hair to ride before them. Several outlying villages were looted and burned. Innocent people were killed. It was, I believe, his effort to turn your own people against you."
Bridin blinked away the stinging heat that rose in her eyes. "And... and it has worked."
Tristan lowered his head.
"There is good news, Tristan," Tate put in. "The villagers seem to have made of you some sort of saint. They remember the kindness of your rule fondly and long for those days to return. Your brother is hated, Tristan, but you are loved. At first they believed his lies about you, that you'd sided with Bridin and helped her to escape, attacking your own brother. But if they still believe any of it, they've become convinced it was not your doing, but hers. Little good it does you now, of course. They all believe you dead, thanks to Vincent. But they mourn you, Tristan. Twice now, your brother has had his men sent out to destroy stone images of you, chiseled and erected by the people of the village."
Tristan's head rose and he stared, first at Bridin, then at Tate. "But if they know I'm the one who set Bridin free—"
"They believe she held you under the spell of her fairy's allure, that you were enchanted and couldn't help yourself. And they detest your brother for killing you."
Tristan nodded. "Then there's still a chance..."
A deep, wrenching sigh was torn from deep within Bridin's chest. "You've won," she whispered. And Tristan turned to stare i
nto her eyes. "Not only my kingdom, Tristan, but the hearts of my people." She lowered her chin to hide her tears from him. "Serve them well."
"Bridin..."
She sniffed and lifted her head again, meeting his gaze squarely. "It's over. The need to hold me here, to try to force me into marriage with you... it's over, Tristan, can't you see that now? You can return to Rush"—she bit her lip —"to Shara... and you can rally the people to stand with you against your brother. You no longer need me."
"You're very mistaken in that."
She closed her eyes, unable to look at the intensity in his any longer, and imagine she was seeing things that simply were not there. "It's time to leave this island, Tristan. Time for you to return to the other side, and free the people. They've suffered far too long already."
"She's right, Tristan," Tate said. "We have to move quickly. Even if we leave right now, this very night, there will be weeks of preparation needed once we arrive there. We'll move in secret, gathering the forces loyal to you and forming an army. We'll need time to train them, to fashion weapons. It's going to take... a month. Perhaps two."
"Two more months of people starving, children dying?" Tristan said, shaking his head slowly.
"It's the best we can hope for," Tate said. "My lord, the sooner we begin, the sooner we can save them all."
Bridin nodded. "You have to go back, Tristan. You have to do it now. Tonight."
"I'm not leaving you behind," he told her. "I won't."
Bridin nodded. "Then I will return with you."
"It isn't safe, lady Bridin!" Tate shouted.
"I'll go into hiding," she whispered, lowering her head to hide her eyes from their view. She didn't want the Wood Nymph reading her thoughts just now. No, not now. Because she knew what she had to do. What her mother would have done. She knew. "Once Tristan regains the throne, perhaps he'll pardon me my... my crimes, and I'll be free to live among my people again."
"They'd stone you, surely. Tristan, you can't let her—"
"I'll do more than pardon you, Bridin," Tristan said softly, and he lifted her clasped hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to them. "I'll make them understand that you were innocent. I'll make this right for you, again. I swear it."
She nodded, knowing he would try. But it would be far too late by then. She could not hide in the forests while her people suffered. She would not have the blood of innocents on her hands, no matter how they might revile her. No. Two months—even one month—was too long to wait to bring relief to those poor children and their families. How many more of them might die of disease or starvation by then? No. She couldn't let it go on. Not even for one more day.
Once back on the other side, Bridin would do what she must do—what any good ruler would do. She would sacrifice her own good, for the good of her people. She would surrender herself to Vincent, so that their suffering could end.
He might kill her outright. If he did, so be it. He might also, she realized, imprison her within the wretched dungeons below the castle, leaving her there to die slowly. And if he did that, then perhaps she could survive until Tristan's victory over his evil brother.
It did not matter. What she was about to do could very well be her last act on behalf of her people.
"We'll leave at dawn," Tristan muttered, but he didn't sound happy about it.
"What of the wizard's tricks, Tristan?" Bridin lifted her head, relieved to have something to think about besides the path that lay ahead of her. The cup from which she must drink deeply. "When I tried to leave, I was nearly killed."
Tristan frowned and glanced toward Tate.
Tate rubbed his chin. "That one, it's said, had a hatred for the fay monarchy that ran very deep. For his residual magic to work against a fairy princess who was attempting to escape in order to retake her kingdom would make perfect sense. But I don't believe he'd act against a Sharan prince returning to take that same kingdom. Still... we might take precautions. I'll think on it tonight. And be ready by dawn. Agreed?"
Tristan nodded.
Tate turned as if to leave the room.
"Please, wait," Bridin called, stopping him. "I must know of Marinda. Is she well? Is she safe?"
Tate turned and smiled at her. "I suppose the secret no longer needs keeping," he said. "Marinda is my own wife, and I'd no more leave her at risk than I would cut off my own fingers."
"Your wife?" Tristan rose and stared wide-eyed at his friend. "Tate!"
Tate shrugged and grinned at him. "The two of us believed that the two of you... Ah, the plan failed, so there's no need going into it now." He shook his head, sighing. "Marinda is fine, lady Bridin, and safe with our own people. I've warned her not to speak out in your defense, lest she endanger herself. And I hope she has sense enough to obey me in that. She sought out your dear friend, the aged mortal—"
"Raze?" Bridin asked, jumping to her feet.
Tate nodded. "Yes, that's the name. He and a handful of those still loyal to you—your cousin Pog, among others—have gone into hiding on the dark side of the forest. And that's where you'll likely have to be staying once we return. Just until it's safe to come back into the kingdom, of course."
"No." Tristan shook his head hard. "Not there. Bridin will not spend even a single night in that sun-forsaken land where I was raised."
"But, Tristan—"
"Not one night."
Tate nodded. "We'll find some other haven for all of them, then." Then he turned to Bridin. "I'm sorry it's turned out this way, my lady."
She nodded, then stepped away as she felt the Wood Nymph probing her mind, and saw his eyes narrow. "I'm feeling tired," she said, as she reached the stairs. "We'd all best get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a trial for all of us."
She did return to her room, but she didn't sleep. She didn't even lie down. It seemed to Bridin that she'd done nothing but lie in that bed forever, and if things went as they very well might tomorrow, this could be her last night among the living.
She didn't want to spend it lying in bed.
Not alone, anyway.
She paced, and she thought of Tristan. Thought of the way it had felt the times when he'd kissed her. The pretty words he'd used to try to convince her to marry him. Thought of how he'd been here, by her bedside, each time she'd opened her eyes for the past three days.
But he wasn't here now. Possibly because he was assured that she was fully recovered, or very nearly so. She didn't want to think it was because he no longer needed her in order to regain the throne. She didn't want to think it, but she thought it all the same. His kisses, his touches, and all of those pretty words had been just ploys. Just methods to make her change her mind. Now that he could return to Rush and take her throne without her—now that her help would be a liability rather than an asset—he was nowhere in sight. No more tenderness in the night. No more sharing his body's warmth to take the chill away from hers. That special way he had of stroking her hair that made her feel utterly cherished. The way he spooned broth into her mouth with as much care as if he were feeding a newborn.
No more.
She bit her lip, stopped her pacing, and looked down at the floor. He'd said he wouldn't return to Rush without her. He'd said he would not allow her to spend a single night on the dark side of the forest, where he'd spent his miserable childhood. He'd promised to clear her name, and to make it right for her.
If he cared so little, then what had all of that been? A cruel joke? A way of saving face? Was he feeling guilty and trying to clear his conscience by throwing her the meager scraps of affection that still remained? Or did he really care for her, after all?
The thought that he might was even more painful to her than the idea that it had all been a lie. Because if he did care, leaving him to face the lonely road ahead of her would be that much harder.
And yet she longed to know for sure.
Dammit, why wasn't he here?
Hot. It was so damnably hot in this room. She jerked angrily at the sash at her waist and shed
the robe to resume her agitated pacing wearing only a silky white shift, her feet bare.
He didn't truly care. She might be lying on the floor unconscious in here, for all he knew. If he cared, he'd come through that door, even now that he no longer needed her. If he cared, he'd be here.
Gods, why do I so want for him to be here?
The creak of the ancient hinges alerted her, and she turned to see Tristan stepping into the room, a steaming mug of broth in one hand. He met her eyes, but his were solemn. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke. I hope it didn't frighten you, waking up alone that way."
She blinked rapidly as something deep inside her seemed to thaw. Some icy place turned to mush, and then to liquid. "I... was only surprised to find you gone," she said. She paced to the fireplace that was snapping with too much heat. He'd kept the thing roaring ever since her accident. Absently she trailed her fingers back and forth on the mantel, her back to Tristan.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "I know what Tate said must have been a shock."
She blew air through clenched teeth. "To say the least."
And then he was closer, standing right behind her, one hand closing on her shoulder. "Bridin, I—" He broke off, his hand flattening to her shoulder, then quickly moving up to press to her cheek. "You're feverish again. I knew damn well you were up too soon. You're pushing yourself, Bridin."
She turned to face him, the fire's heat searing on her back. "It doesn't matter now. We're returning to Rush tomorrow, Tristan, whether I'm up to the trip or not."
"Maybe." He set the broth on the mantel, clasping her waist and steering her toward the bed. "Maybe not. I'd rather wait until you're stronger."
She planted her feet. "We can't wait. We can't let those people suffer any longer than they already have, Tristan."
He stood there, still holding her waist, and his face went soft and a smile played at his lips. "Even deposed, you're still their princess, aren't you?" He shook his head, looking almost awed.
"No," she whispered. "Not anymore."
He studied her a moment longer. "You're wrong about that. You've always been, Bridin, and you always will be."
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