by Serena Chase
But was retrieving the Remedy my first task . . . or the second? It all depended on whether or not rescuing Gladiel and Drinius was considered among the tasks, I supposed. So what was left but to—
A bugler’s call sounded, strong and sure. The metallic whir of three swords leaving their scabbards tingled in my ears.
I looked at Julien. “What was that?”
His jaw was set, his sword ready. “Advance.”
“From our army?”
He nodded.
It was almost upon us.
But so many lines remained! The third task, as I figured it, was to destroy the Cobelds’ well and shrine. But there were so many riddles left to explain how it could be done! And of the seven of us remaining, which four would comprise the council that would “strike the pyre” and accomplish it?
“Rynnaia, here.” Erielle interrupted the rush of panic that threatened to consume me. She held a sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. My dagger. “I forgot to give this back to you,” she said with a smile. “I figured now was probably a good time.”
I nodded, but dropped the dagger into my pocket. It clinked against something.
The stone.
My mind raced through the riddles, but the only phrases that stuck out to me were: Oracle’s daughter scales the slope, takes the mantel, and drops the stone to nullify Cobeld’s dark curse and purge the poison from its work.
A few things were easily identifiable: the slope was right above us, and the stone, glowing in the pocket of my cloak, would need to be dropped into the well. But what of the other elements in the rhyme?
The poison. It must speak of the evil concoction of ebonswarth, yellowhock, and who knows what else Cobeld had added to his “miracle” spring water. The stone must have medicinal properties that would cancel the negative effects of the plants.
The mantel. I looked up at the well. Was the thing hanging above it a mantel, of sorts, like that which rests above a hearth? Was I supposed to knock it down? I couldn’t be sure, but since I had a stone in my pocket, a stone that came from the center of the Remedy itself, I was almost sure that it was supposed to be dropped into the well.
The Oracle’s daughter. As Erielle had mused back at Holiday Palace, I supposed Lady Anya probably felt a bit maternal toward me. And since so much else of the prophecy spoke of the Ryn, I could only concur that this part did, too.
But if I was wrong about even one of these things, how would we retrieve the stone once it was dropped? We had come so far, but so much was still layered in mystery. If we misinterpreted even one bit of the prophecy, would the well continue to be an available source of power to the Cobelds? A legacy of evil, even though Cobeld himself was no longer a threat?
The knights gazed northward, toward the sounds of war cries and clashing swords, now too close to be carried away on the wind. Edru had also drawn a sword, but his gaze was focused upward, as if seeking some sort of sign that would tell us what to do.
I closed my eyes and sent a silent plea to The First for enlightenment, but the skies remained silent, as if waiting for someone below to provide the key that would open them and reveal the mysteries of the riddles to us.
Father.
My mind reached out to the King, but when I found him, I almost retreated. Never had I seen such a fierce visage. Gone were the genteel expressions and courtly mannerisms to which I’d so briefly been accustomed. Jarryn of E’veria had transformed into a Warrior King.
I distanced myself just enough to avoid distracting him and watched his grace, his skill, with wonder. Pride surged within me. That is my father!
A corner of his mouth lifted. He had felt the color of that affectionate emotion and knew it came from me.
Julien’s arm curled around my waist the moment the battle became visible. Within seconds of the first glimmer of shields, the area just beyond the tree line teemed with the movement of combat. Swords and armor caught fragmented rays of sunshine. E’verian shields, dulled by spattered blood, met blows from Dwonsil swords and poisoned Cobeld arrows.
“What should we do?” I turned my face up to him.
“We fight. Beyond that?” He shrugged. “We’ll just have to figure it out as we go.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“You think I’m calm?” He tilted his head. “I’m not calm. I’m a knight, therefore I am . . . controlled. It is necessary.”
“You look calm.” There was something else in his eyes as well, but I waited for him to speak rather than trying to read his thoughts.
“Rynnaia, when you were with Cobeld, you put E’veria before me.”
I swallowed hard. “I did.” Was he having second thoughts about our reconciliation?
“You did the right thing,” he said, allowing me to breathe. “If the need arises, I need you to promise that you’ll do it again.” Julien’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You’ve never seen this sort of battle. Things happen swiftly. People die.” He paused. “You cannot. You are the Ryn.”
“But if it were to save E’veria . . .”
“You are not alone here.” He shook his head. “Remember the oath I swore at the Bear’s Rest?”
I nodded.
“I pledged my fealty, my sword, and my service to you with all that I am and for all of my life. Kinley and Gerrias did as well at Holiday Palace. If necessary, we will die to protect you. We are knights and it is our duty and privilege to fight.”
“But—”
He shook his head and put a finger to my lips. “You are the Ryn. It is your duty to survive. There must be an E’veri on the throne and your father has no other heir. E’veria needs you alive.” He paused. His eyes softened, yet became brighter at the same time. “Rynnaia,” his voice broke and the last word came out as a whisper, “live.”
His words seemed final. Sure. And they sounded like good-bye.
My fingers gripped his arm and my voice came out as little more than a breath that felt like my last. “Don’t leave me, Julien.”
The pain in his eyes was as tight as that in my throat. “Give me your word, Rynnaia, that you will not put yourself in harm’s way for our sakes.”
“I cannot.” I shook my head. “You are E’veria, too. But I will remember my responsibilities and pledge to accept whatever task The First assigns to me, even unto death.”
“I can ask for no more than that.” Julien’s nod was stern, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “And yet I find that I can’t help myself. There is one more pledge I would speak and one more request I would pose to you, Rynnaia.”
Julien turned to face me and lowered the tip of his sword so that it speared the platform between us.
One by one, as if conscious of a turning tide, our companions aimed their gazes away from the battle below and toward us instead.
“In E’veria, courtship is used as a means to test the strength of love, to ensure it is more than attraction and flirtation, and that it has the fortitude for a lifetime. Our courtship has been anything but conventional,” he said, “but I pledge by my sword and these witnesses that I will spend the rest of my life, whether it lasts only the next hour or for the next hundred years, proving the depth of my love for you.”
Julien reached for my hand, placed it atop the hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and covered it with his own as he knelt on one knee.
“Rynnaia E’veri, will you accept my heart, and should Rynloeft allow us safely forth, be my bride?”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Julien’s eyes locked with mine and his love flooded my mind with green and gold, filling the core of me with the intense truth of his commitment. I opened my mind entirely to its sweetness.
“I love you, Rynnaia,” he repeated. His whisper stole my breath. “Marry me.”
Yes! I let my colors wash over him. Yes, I will accept your heart, but only if you fill its place with mine.
Julien stood and his head bobbed in one solid nod. “Done.”
At once, something intangible and bright
spilled out of me . . . and into him. Julien sucked in a breath. His eyes widened. A moment later we were lost within an explosive wonder, a sense of two destinies, met and melded, that reset the world.
On some level, I was conscious of the sounds of battle coming closer. Primal yells, the sound of swords hitting flesh and shield, metal on metal. But the noises of war were secondary to the trumpeting emotions that caressed my heart from Julien’s loving gaze.
“Ah, not to spoil the moment, Julien.” Kinley cleared his throat. “But this is the Crown Princess of E’veria to whom you just offered marriage. There is the little matter of seeking permission from the King.”
Julien didn’t take his eyes off me, but said, “He’s already given it.”
“Oh,” Kinley said. He drummed his fingers across the flat of his sword. “Well, then?”
I looked over at him and scowled. Leave it to my brother to dump a bucket of water on romance. “Well, what?”
“Well, answer the man!”
“She already did.” Julien grinned.
“She did?” Erielle spoke up. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Neither did I,” Gerrias said.
“I did.” Edru favored us with a rare chuckle. “She said yes. Quite forcefully, as a matter of fact.”
Erielle let out a puff of air that sounded a bit like, “Andoven!”
“Did she?” Kinley prodded. “If I’m to serve as witness, then I think I’d like to hear it for myself.”
“As would I,” Gerrias said, giving his brother a sly grin. “Otherwise, I’m inclined to disbelieve that our fair princess would tie herself to such a beast as my brother for the rest of her days.”
“In that case,” I said, cupping my hands near my mouth and shouting with all my might, “let it be known this day that I, Rynnaia E’veri, have agreed to wed this Bear-man of Mynissbyr, Sir Julien de Gladiel!”
With a singing whirr, Julien’s sword returned to his scabbard. “Did you hear it that time?” He laughed. “She said yes!”
Without another word he crushed me into his arms. As his lips laid claim to my soul, I was drawn into his. Whatever had happened when I’d accepted his proposal had bound our hearts and minds, roping emerald and gold around me and blue and orange around him. The kiss only deepened our bond, sealing it with fire.
“Huzzah!” Erielle’s cheer was immediately echoed by Gerrias, Kinley, and even Edru, but I barely noticed. My mind and my heart were too full for my ears to make sense of their joy. Strong as it was, it paled to invisibility next to my own.
Our first kiss, just a few hours earlier, had been sweet, filled with the relief of forgiveness and the perfection of a gently shared promise. This embrace overflowed with passionate truth and furious love that sought to singe the very skin from our bones.
Perhaps a kiss so scorching would have been best shared in private, but privacy wasn’t afforded us right now. And since not even my own brother was protesting, I wasn’t about to argue with the timing. How could I? I was utterly lost within Julien’s love.
Emerald bonds to seal the Ryn and toast the curse they’ve taken in.
The phrase of poetry burst in amidst our combined colors. The blazing green onslaught became suddenly more intense. Another presence, one of similar green, but streaked with lustrous strands of ebony, joined us. Though our breath yet mingled, I lost conscious awareness of the kiss itself.
Souls conjoin, a third concurs. Hope consumes Cobeld’s saboteurs. The words sang through my head.
Suddenly, though Julien and I had not moved from our physical location, the boundaries of time were loosened and our conjoined consciousness traveled to another plane. Again, I stood behind the desk at Fyrlean Manor, watching the young oracle work her quill. But this time, I was not alone.
This was an ethereal moment, a meeting realized through means beyond my power, beyond Julien’s, and beyond Anya’s. Something only attainable by The First.
Lady Anya turned and pierced me with her gaze. She was older than the last time we had met. Years older, though it had only been months for me . . . yet centuries . . . since we’d last met upon this plane.
“Ryn Naia.” Lady Anya had an urgent tone to her voice. “You and your betrothed must do this together.”
She gestured to Julien, who stood at my side behind the young poet’s chair. When the bright emerald eyes they shared connected, she caught her breath. Her hand moved to her belly and I noticed it was swollen with child. When she looked up, her eyes shone with recognition of one of her progeny.
“A Bear-man King?” She laughed. “Serve well, my son. Or my son’s son.” She laughed again. “However many generations may come between this little Bear-man,” she patted her belly, “and you, knight, walk in truth and serve well.”
Julien nodded. “With all that I am and for all of my life, I will.”
“You will, indeed.” Joy lit Anya’s features, and as she faded from our view, her last words echoed across the colors swelling again in our minds, “You are bound. You are sealed. By your toast, speak as one.”
My eyes flew open. Our lips disconnected. A mixture of wonder and understanding lit on Julien’s face that I could only imagine was mirrored on mine.
Suddenly it was clear what we had to do.
“What. Was. That?” Erielle spoke. “It was as if you were frozen! Like you weren’t even here!” She groaned, spread her arms wide, and looked to the sky. “May Rynloeft save me from romance, lest it render me frozen as a fool’s statue!”
Our attention was abruptly drawn by a piercing shriek. Cobelds poured through the tree line and into the camp with E’verian soldiers close behind.
“We need more time!” Gerrias growled.
“Or a distraction,” Kinley said as he effected a battle stance. “Something!”
“A distraction?” I turned from Julien. “That, I can do.”
I untied my cloak and dropped it on the floor of the scaffold platform. Next, I pulled the leather tie from my hair, doubled over at the waist, and snaked my fingers through the braid until it flowed free. I flipped my hair back over my head and stood straight.
“Well, I’m distracted.” Julien shot me a grin that brought some of the red of my hair into my cheeks. Gerrias cuffed his shoulder.
I looked up at the sky, moved about three feet to the left and stepped into the path of the sun.
“Whoa.” Erielle breathed. “Fire.”
Kinley blew a long whistle. “Your hair looks as if it’s made of flame itself.” He nodded and resumed his battle stance. “Yes, I believe that should slow them down for a minute or two.”
I planted my feet and faced the enemy. When the first Cobeld noticed me, a cry pierced the air.
The Cobelds stopped dead in their tracks. Another shriek lifted from the battlefield. “The Ryn Naia!” In tones of gasping horror, others joined in, little by little, until their shrieks of “The Ryn Naia!” were barely distinguishable as words.
The distraction I provided gave the King’s Army a momentary advantage against the combined Cobeld and Dwonsil forces. They pressed forward. I couldn’t see my father yet, but he was there. I sensed him.
Erielle turned a wicked grin in my direction. “That was effective!”
Unfortunately, the Cobelds were quick to recover from their shock. Having seen me for themselves, and so close to achieving my goal, their desperation increased.
Could they sense I’d defeated Cobeld? A quick brush against the mind of one argued against it and made me wonder if perhaps they’d been unaware of his presence, trapped as he was inside Mount Shireya all these centuries. He had known about them, of course. But had it been part of his curse to not only know the prophecy of his doom, and that his followers benefited from his well and the proliferation of the botanically-derived curse he’d left behind, but to know he had only one chance to prevent its destruction?
Ah, something to wonder on when my Kingdom’s destiny was not so imminent.
Regardless of what the C
obelds knew of their former leader, they knew the prophecy as surely as we did. Maybe better. And they believed that to foil it would allow them to take E’veria for themselves.
Cobelds began clawing their way up the shrine. Julien pushed me behind the line of knights. He joined Erielle, Kinley, Edru, and Gerrias in using their swords to knock the Cobelds from the scaffolding, but the sheer number of the enemy was staggering. For each that was killed or knocked down, another took its place. They were as desperate to reach the well as we were to ensure that they didn’t. The Cobelds needed to get to the well to save the source of their power, but they still held poison-tainted weapons, ready to strike. We had to figure out what to do to end their curse.
“Rynnaia!” Erielle shouted. “Go! Throw the stone into the well!”
Forgetting that I’d taken off my cloak, I felt for my pocket and then fell to the ground, seeking the stone in the pocket of my discarded cloak. Finally, its warmth touched my fingers and I pulled it out. The light of the stone, which had turned from flames of orange and red to a bright, piercing blue, now filled the entire core of the sphere. As I closed my hand around it, Lady Anya’s voice reverberated in my head, speaking the prophecy she had inscribed.
The Oracle’s daughter must scale the slope, take the mantel, and drop the stone.
Lady Anya called Julien her son. Her son’s son. In the two hundred years since the prophecy was penned, there had not been a female born to the Regent of Mynissbyr’s family. At least not until . . .
I gasped. The moment was upon us and the riddle was finally unmasked. I’m not the Oracle’s daughter!
“I’m hit!” Gerrias cried.
Switching his sword to the other hand, Gerrias wrenched the dagger free of his already-injured sword arm and sent its point into the neck of a nearby Cobeld. As if he’d always fought with his left arm, Gerrias continued to knock Cobelds away. But his face grimaced with an agony I knew only too well.
“Rynnaia, go!” Kinley urged.
The Oracle’s daughter . . .
“But I’m not the Oracle’s daughter!” I shouted, even as Julien pushed his sister back toward me. “It’s you, Erielle!”
