by Serena Chase
The knights filed in around the table but remained at ease. For some reason, the informality pleased me and I was able to add another name to my father’s list: friend.
“Knights.”
Sudden quiet fell as my father spoke.
“Once the news of Rynnaia’s survival hits the port, there is no doubt it will travel with speed. This will work to our advantage. If all goes as planned between now and then, I expect to leave Holiday Palace on the second day of next week. We’ll leave under full guard and fanfare, as fits the news of Rynnaia’s survival, but it will be a guise only until we meet up with the army near the village of Yeld.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “The princess and her squad will then depart for Shireya.”
My father took a deep breath. “Once the army joins us, the added arms should confirm the presence of the Ryn to the Cobelds. We must be vigilant in protecting the closed carriage so that no one will see it is empty.”
There were nods and mild vocal expressions that were more grunts than words.
What if it wasn’t empty? As soon as the thought occurred I sent the question to my father. What if someone was inside, posing as the princess?
My father turned to me. You may speak aloud here, Rynnaia. You are the Ryn. The knights will respect what you have to say. He had to turn his attention from me when Julien spoke.
“If we could find someone to ride in the carriage on the princess’s behalf,” Julien said, thoughtfully rubbing his beard, “and if the imposter was believable and occasionally seen with you, Your Majesty,” he added, “the Cobelds would be more likely to converge in that direction and free the path to Shireya.”
You and Julien think along the same lines, my father spoke to my mind. That is good. A Ryn must always seek a reigning partner with whom he or she can reason and agree.
I tried to deny the flush that crept up my neck at his allusion, but my ears burned with it.
“It’s a good addition to the plan,” an older knight said as he gazed toward me. “But it would be difficult to find a believable double for the princess, even if a lady could be found who would be willing to face such certain peril.”
Kinley spoke up. “But what if the princess is recognized elsewhere in the meantime?”
Every eye in the room rested on me with a sudden intensity that made me squirm.
“Princess Rynnaia bears a rather noteworthy resemblance to the Queen,” Kinley continued, frowning. “What if someone sees her on the way to Shireya?”
Kinley had never met my mother, but her portrait hung in the entryway of Holiday Palace. No one who had seen the Queen or her portrait would deny our relation.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” Julien said, chuckling. “The princess quite excels in the art of disguise.”
“But that was when everyone thought she was dead,” Kinley argued. “No one expected to see her, so they didn’t. Now that protection is gone.”
“Hmm.” Julien glanced down the table. “Risson? You attended the Regent’s Ball here last month, did you not?”
“I did,” Risson agreed. “Several of us were here that night.”
“And did you make note of the princess at that time?”
“As you well know, the princess was not at Holiday Palace at that time.” The older knight laughed. “Indeed, a lady with such a strong resemblance to the Queen would have caused quite a stir.”
“Sir Risson,” I spoke up, “if I remember correctly, we were partnered briefly during the Chauminard,” I said. “I stood next to your wife, I believe, and when we circled the round, we spoke, however briefly.”
The knight’s eyes widened. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but as much as I have eyes only for my wife, I believe I would have remembered dancing with you.”
“Then you will be relieved to know that I was not quite myself that night.” I gave him a kind smile. “I came to the ball wearing a black hair piece and was introduced as Rose de Whittier. And although the Duke of Glenhume does not deny me use of his association, Sir Kinley is not my brother by blood.”
The knight’s crinkled eyes widened. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not recognize you.”
“Exactly!” Julien exclaimed. “But Rose de Whittier is not the only alias Her Highness has at her disposal. I doubt that even her Veetrish brother,” he tipped his head in acknowledgment of Kinley, “will recognize the princess for who she is when we leave from here.”
“May it be so.” The King’s solid approval turned our minds back to the business at hand and it was past midnight when the meeting finally adjourned.
“We will meet again tomorrow evening,” my father said, “after the additional regiments from Nyrland and Sengarra arrive.” He removed the stones from the corners of the map and rolled it tightly. “Until then, knights, rest well and train with victory in mind.”
The knights filed out and a herald came in and presented my father with a note. As he read it, he frowned. “Alert the infirmary,” he said and excused the herald.
With that, the King offered me his arm and escorted me to my chambers.
“Rynnaia.” When he paused at my door, a wave of grief flowed from his shoulders and stole my breath.
“Father? What is it?”
He reached for my hand and pressed it between both of his. “I’ve received word that both Sir Kiggon’s and Sir Ahlvir’s regiments were attacked. I’ve ordered the palace infirmary prepared to host the injured who survived.”
The air trembled as I pulled it into my lungs. My free hand covered my mouth.
Lewys.
My father’s eyes were moist, but I knew the emotion was more mine than his. Still, that he empathized so touched me.
“I was not able to ascertain whether or not Lord Whittier’s son was among those traveling with Kiggon,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know your bond with that family runs deep. I will let you know as soon as I learn more.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
“If you need anything, anything at all,” he said, squeezing my hand, “no matter what the hour, come for me. Or call out to me with your mind, and I will come to you.”
The surety of his love surrounded me. On impulse, I stepped up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Father,” I said. “Sleep well.”
When the door closed behind me, however, I wondered if sleep would come for me at all. Knowing that Lewys could be injured, or worse, weighted my heart. Yet fear for my brother contrasted sharply against the lightness that shimmered from thoughts of Julien and the courtship that had now officially begun.
As my eyes began to droop, I rested my fingers upon the spot on my hand that his lips had touched.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A bugle call awakened me the next morning. Its tune tickled my memory, pulling me from troubled dreams in which my three brothers, in turn, stepped up to defend me from a Cobeld’s attack.
I sprang from my bed. Or tried to, rather. Somehow I had ended up sprawled in the middle of it, tangled in the linens like a fish in a net. Once I finally freed myself from my bonds, I had to crawl the length of my body and then some before I reached the edge of the massive bed.
A dressing gown had been laid out for me and I shoved my arms into it as I made my way to the window. The bugle called again, and the standard preceding the bugler appeared, familiar to me. It was Sir Kiggon’s flag, battered, but flying proudly ahead of the beleaguered band of knights. They had just come through the gates.
I flew to the dressing room and pulled out an Andoven-made gown that was especially easy to get into by myself. Once I’d pulled the laces as tight as I could around my midsection, I turned to the looking glass.
My hair was in worse shape than my tangled sheets. In fact, it more resembled yarn that had been turned out of its basket and given over to the delight of a kitten than hair. With a grunt of annoyance I pulled open the drawers of the dressing table until I found a wide-toothed ivory comb. With a grimace, I forced it through my mess of copper wave
s. Over and over I pulled, working each knot until it either untangled or tugged free of my scalp.
“Whatever its crimes, Princess, I hardly think your hair deserves that harsh of a sentence.”
I jumped. “Erielle!”
“Give it over. Let me help with the back.”
I gladly relinquished the comb.
“Your father asked me to serve as your lady’s maid until you have time to interview others for the position,” she said. “If I’d known you were awake I would have come sooner.” She shrugged. “But other than your poor head, it looks like you survived without me.”
“Do you have maids?”
“When I’m forced to dress like this I do,” she said with a scowl toward the looking glass.
Her gown was the color of fresh raspberries with yellow ribbons for its laces. Erielle was a feminine vision of spring, and I told her so.
“Ach,” she complained, looking down at her dress. “All these ribbons and ties. Give me trousers and a soft leather tunic any day over these fripperies. Besides being entirely impractical—where on earth am I supposed to put my broadsword, I ask you?—I prefer to dress myself. Not that I mind helping you, of course,” she added.
“Of course,” I responded. “Not that I believe for a minute that you’re unarmed.”
Her sly grin was all the confirmation I needed.
“There. I believe you are tangle-free. How would you like it styled?”
“I think up. Something simple. I’ll be visiting the infirmary today.”
Rynnaia. My father’s voice broke into my thoughts. Lewys de Whittier is here. He is wounded, but it is not severe.
I heaved a sigh of relief and thanked him for the information. As soon as Erielle finished my hair she escorted me to the infirmary.
The large chamber was near capacity and I found Lewys easily because Kinley was already at his side.
“Lewys!”
He was sitting up on the edge of a cot, a fresh bandage on his shoulder. He turned his head as I approached. His mouth gaped open and then his head swiveled to look at something to the left. I followed his gaze and found a portrait of my mother.
“Oh, by the way,” Kinley said with a grin. “I forgot to mention that our little sister, you know, Rose? Well, she’s the Ryn.”
“Hello, Lewys.”
“Rah-oh. Er. Ah!” Lewys sputtered. “Rose?” He blinked. “What happened to your hair?”
“The black dye washed out.” I shook my head. “In Veetri it was dyed. This is what’s real.”
Lewys reached a hand forward as if to tug on one of my copper curls and then swiftly drew it back. “Your name’s not Rose.”
Again, I shook my head. “It’s Rynnaia.”
“Rynnaia,” he whispered, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, if that’s not the best news I’ve heard in a while, then Veetri’s green hills have turned to gold!” He tilted his head back and laughed, but it was cut short by a groan and his hand flew to the bandage on his shoulder. He winced.
“You’re hurt!” My words came out as an accusation. “How could you let that happen? I’ve been worried sick!”
“You’ve been worried?” His eyebrows rose and then immediately narrowed over his topaz eyes. “You’ve been worried? You? It wasn’t your sister who disappeared without a trace, without a word.” He paused. “It’s been three years since I laid eyes on you, Rose! Two, since you left Mirthan Hall for who knows where. Worried, ha! Let me tell you about worried, little girl.”
It was as if the years fell away. For as many scrapes as he and Rowlen had led me into, Lewys had never trusted that I could get out of a single one on my own. Tears sprang to my eyes, fighting against the need to laugh from the sheer relief of finding my middle brother alive.
“Oh, Lewys.” I stepped forward, leaned down, and gently wrapped my arms around him, careful not to bump his wound. The tears in my eyes spilled down my cheeks and onto his neck.
“Ah, Rose. Don’t cry. You know I didn’t mean it.”
“It’s not that.” I sniffed. “I’m just so glad you’re alive. The Dwonsil warriors are poisoning their arrows with cursed hairs from the Cobelds’ beards. I was so—” I didn’t want to say it and get him going again.
The buzzing sounds of talk and aid had retreated, enveloping us in an eerie silence. I let go of Lewys and wiped my eyes as I straightened.
I turned a full circle. Every eye that was conscious and able was on me.
“Hel-loo,” I said, lifting my hand and giving a little wave. “I’m Rynnaia.”
Erielle giggled.
“Her Royal Highness,” Kinley corrected in a loud voice, “Princess Rynnaia E’veri.”
The silence swelled, seeming even thicker and more oppressive after Kinley’s boast.
Finally, a small voice broke the stillness. “I thought you was dead!”
I turned, and in the far corner a small boy of about eight stood on a cot, a bloody bandage wrapped about his head.
“Well? Are you?” He called across the room. “Are you dead?”
“Ah, no.” I smiled weakly at him. “I’m not dead.” What in the world was a child doing with a wound like that? In a soldiers’ infirmary, no less!
“That’s Rogan,” Lewys said. “Sir Kiggon’s newest page.”
“His page?” I turned, whispering. “But he’s just a little boy!”
“Don’t tell him that,” Lewys laughed. “He’ll likely gut you.”
“Lewys!” Kinley hissed. “She’s the Ryn! And a lady. A little respect.”
“My apologies, Your Highness. That was a crude thing to say.” He sighed. “Ah, but I’m glad to see there’s a little bit of the Veetrish left in you. Under all that royal red hair there may still be a de Whittier hiding, I think.”
I nodded. “Indeed.”
The Veetrish had strong ideas about the importance of giving a child a sense of home and hearth. Family was the most treasured thing a Veetrish person had. The ability to tell a good story was second. Living among them for nine years of my life, naturally I’d acquired something of their views for myself.
“Come now.” Lewys scooted over and patted the cot. “Have a seat. I want to know everything. Start with what happened after your birthday ball up until this very moment. Don’t leave a detail by the wayside.”
And so I did, beginning with the fateful day Lord Whittier’s Head of Housekeeping had been confronted and let go for threatening me with false accusations of witchcraft and for disparaging both my character and that of my uncle, Sir Drinius, and continued through my trip with Sir Gladiel to the Bear’s Rest and the frightening night Julien showed up at our door, half-dead, wearing a cloak made from the skin of a bear, and looking like a beast out of a Storyteller’s tale. All was going well until I mentioned trying to free an old man who’d gotten his beard stuck in a log. And that it turned out to be a Cobeld.
“You what?!”
“Don’t worry. Julien killed the nasty old fellow.” I patted his arm.
Lewys covered his eyes. Kinley dropped his head into his hands and groaned.
“Might I remind you two,” I said, crossing my arms, “that if anyone in Veetri would have bothered to tell me that a real Cobeld looked like someone’s grandfather instead of portraying them to be the hideous monsters from the Storytellers’ tales, I wouldn’t have nearly been killed.” I added a hrrumph to underscore the validity of my argument.
“Yes, Princess.” I hadn’t realized Julien had joined us until his voice rumbled from behind me. “But if you would have remained in the house as instructed, you wouldn’t have been put at risk at all.”
“True.” I smiled sweetly up at him. A bit too sweetly, if the sudden thickness of my accent was any judge. “But at least outside I might have been able to run away from a mortal threat. But when you barged into my bedchamber at Fyrlean Manor and put a sword to my—”
“Did you threaten my sister?” Lewys stood and swayed a little on his feet.
; It was an evil thing, to pit my overprotective brother against my suitor. But I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“Sit down, Lewys,” Kinley said, grabbing his arm, “before you fall and end up with a bump on your head as well.”
Lewys shook off Kinley’s hand. “Well?” He glared at Julien. “Did you?”
“Yes. But in my defense,” Julien said with a slow grin, “she quite deserved it.”
I held back a laugh. He was right, of course. I had deserved it. Dressed as a boy, but in the room in which he’d expected to find a princess, he assumed I had come to harm. When I explained the situation to Lewys, he reluctantly agreed that, yes, I quite deserved it.
By evening Lewys was released to the barracks and I saw him very little the next day. Not, of course, that I would have had time to chat even had our paths crossed. I quickly learned that being a princess was not at all what the Storytellers made it out to be. My time was not my own to spend as I willed, but belonged, and rightly so, to the workings of the Kingdom. But even as I attended meetings with my father, visited recuperating knights, and wrote letters of condolence to the families of those who had fallen—letters that would not be sent until after I was announced to the Kingdom—there wasn’t a moment that my mind was not troubled.
I worried how the Kingdom would react when the King’s messengers delivered the shocking missive announcing my survival to the Regents. The knights were happy and hopeful that I was here, but would everyone react so when they found out that an almost twenty-year-old “truth” was a lie?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The day before the ball, the Shireya contingent met in the War Room to discuss the scrolls. Each person had their own copy of the translations spread before them while we awaited my father’s arrival. The only person who had yet to see the scrolls was the King himself.
My father finally arrived, having been detained with other kingly duties. He took his place at the table, but as his gaze slid over the group, he paused on Erielle. A frown creased his brow, but he didn’t comment.
“If you don’t mind, Father,” I said, “I’d like to ask Erielle to read the translations since she found the original scrolls.”
