by Brenna Lyons
Regana looked at him in shock. “Please, I beg you. Don’t do this. You made your choices, whatever your reasons. I’ve made mine. I am Pauwel’s wife, now. This is Pauwel’s son that I carry. You asked me once to walk away and not look back. Please, I ask you to do the same. You are not the Jörg I knew. I am not the girl you played with when we were children.” She shook her head hopelessly.
“Tell me why and I will go.” It was a demand. He would know the truth. A mad urge to shake that truth from her gripped him. Jörg pushed it away. No. His days of brutality with Regana were over.
“You’ll go anyway, beast.” Kethe’s voice was cold and hard. She held a sacred weapon in her hands, one of Pauwel’s training weapons.
Jörg laughed in amusement, envisioning her shock if he calmly disarmed her. “What do you intend to do with that?” he taunted her.
“Take one step closer to her and you will learn what I am capable of,” she warned.
Regana skirted toward the other woman. “Kethe, don’t. Don’t bait him. It’s not a good idea.”
Jörg threw up his hands in frustration. Interference and annoyances and half answers seemed his lot in life. “You will not give me the answers I seek, will you?” he shot at her.
“I have,” she insisted.
“Then, perhaps I should ask Pauwel Lord KreuzStütze directly,” Jörg growled at her.
Regana paled considerably. “No. How has he wronged you?” she demanded.
“Then, tell me,” he roared.
“I have,” she screamed at him in near hysterics. “There is nothing more to tell. There is nothing more Pauwel can tell you.”
“We will see,” he warned.
Regana’s jaw tightened, and her eyes flashed in challenge. “I love him and I carry his child. Your chance to choose any woman ended when you went to the stone,” she reminded him. “It was your choice to relinquish that privilege.”
“If I hadn’t chosen damnation, would you have been mine for the choosing?”
“I don’t—” She looked at Kethe in shock then turned her eyes to the fire miserably. “No,” Regana whispered. “I would not.”
Jörg nodded coldly and threw her cloak at her, noting with a mixture of satisfaction and unhappiness that she recoiled from the feel of it. “I understand,” he assured her. “Then, I will leave your home, Lady KreuzStütze. There is nothing here for me. There never was. May you never live long enough to know what that is like.”
He dematerialized and streamed away to go to ground, painfully alone for the first time. Always before, Jörg had felt that he had something precious in his printing, though he could never touch her. He had a purpose, a reason for going on. But, he had nothing.
She’d lied to him. It had all been lies. He never would have believed Regana capable of it — until now. A thirst for blood outside of feeding gripped him. Why would she do this?
Jörg shuddered at the thought that she might have gone along with him out of fear or to ensure his participation in the battle before turning him over to Gawen and Sibold for his brutal possession of her when he took her maidenhead. Both men doted on her. They would have taken Regana’s word for it if she claimed rape and coercion. It would have been a vicious sort of revenge for his treatment of her, and she would have suffered no ill effects from it. Whatever her reason, she let him print with no intention of returning on it when the payment came due.
He could not vent his rage on Regana directly. Her amulet aside, he still loved her despite her admission. Jörg would always love her, because he was trapped by his printing, but not enough to let her treachery go completely unpunished.
Regana had left him nothing. Jörg would return the favor. Like Riberta was promised the illusion of Pauwel and had it ripped away, Regana’s illusion of safety and love with Pauwel would be ripped away. First, he would take KreuzStütze from her. Then, her precious child would be taken from her — not as a child, but when she felt safe of his survival. Any man who dared love her would suffer the same fate until Regana dared not love, until she felt what it was like to have no prospect of love. Jörg sobbed that he had sunk so low.
* * *
Pauwel rode like a man possessed of demons. When he and Gawen had felt the attack on Regana’s amulet, they’d stopped immediately. Veriel unghosted, and they’d barely glanced at each other before turning back. They hadn’t wasted time explaining to the others. They would feel it too and know why the two of them broke off for home.
When the beast moved again, Pauwel nearly cried for the distance he still had to travel. If Veriel injured Regana or Kethe— He pushed the thought away. He needed to control the Blutjagd until the fight was closer or he would burn off the edge. At the house, he was off his horse with his weapons drawn before the animal even came to a halt.
Kethe threw the door open with one of his training blades in hand. “For the love of all that’s holy,” she exploded. “Get in there and show your wife that you are still alive, before she worries herself into childbirth.”
“Alive? Of course, I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?” he demanded.
“That mad beast all but promised you wouldn’t be. Regana has been absolutely frantic. It was all I could do to keep her here with me instead of rushing off to find you.”
Pauwel pushed past Kethe, but Regana was already hurtling across the room at him. He dropped his weapons to sweep her into his arms. “It’s all right,” he soothed her, holding her close to his chest while she sobbed. “Did he hurt you?”
Regana shook her head against his chest.
“He threatened and frightened her,” Kethe offered. “He really is mad.”
“Yes, he is.” Pauwel glanced at the training weapon in concern. “You didn’t try to use that, did you?”
“No. I just warned him away with it.”
“Good. Remember that Veriel is as highly trained as any of the warriors are. Even with your amulet, attacking him would be very dangerous.”
Kethe nodded and collected up his weapons for him, as Gawen rode up.
“Pauwel,” he called, his voice demanding an answer without him speaking the question.
“She’s fine, Gawen.” He ran a hand over their child. “You are, aren’t you?” he asked softly.
“Yes. He didn’t hurt me,” she breathed, still clinging to his tunic.
Gawen stormed in and closed the door to the night. The older warrior built up the fire to ward off the chill in the room, while Pauwel led her to a chair close to the hearth. Regana shivered, and he tried to hand her the cloak lying forgotten on the floor.
“No,” Kethe screamed.
Regana pushed it away with a strangled squeal of protest.
“No,” his sister repeated softly. She took the piece of clothing from Pauwel and pitched it into the fire.
He furrowed his brow. For a moment, he thought he could see the flames dancing through the fabric before it started to burn.
“It’s all right, Regana. I will get something to warm you,” Kethe assured her as she bolted for their sleeping chamber.
Pauwel met Gawen’s eyes and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “What was that all about?” he wondered aloud.
“Veriel,” Regana croaked. “He pulled it from my shoulders and threw it at me when he left.”
“Why?” Gawen asked.
Regana ran her hands over their child and looked at the two men miserably.
“By the stone, no,” Gawen breathed.
“What happened?” Pauwel asked gently, nodding to Kethe as she draped their mother’s cloak around Regana’s shoulders.
“He was furious that I’m carrying your child,” she answered simply.
“Why did he want me dead?”
“You took me before the battle. He’s convinced you used some sort of coercion or trickery — or that I led him on somehow. I don’t think he knows what he thinks any more than I do.”
Pauwel groaned as her meaning hit him. “He thinks I took advantage of you,” he guessed.
&nbs
p; “Or that I took advantage of him – or...” Regana shook her head, looking weary.
“It’s worse than that,” Kethe spat. “The beast blames her for the choice he made to be damned, that wanting her drove him mad.”
Pauwel shot a startled look at Regana, but she was staring into the flames intently.
“You know that’s not true,” he soothed her. “Whatever his reason, you are not to blame for his actions. What else did he say, Kethe?”
“He demanded to know— If he had not chosen damnation, would she have been his or yours.”
Pauwel sank into the chair beside Regana and took her hand. “You told him the truth?” he asked, knowing it was the only way to phrase it so that Kethe would not become suspicious.
Regana looked at each of them miserably, Kethe first. Her eyes finally settled on Pauwel’s. “I am yours. I have always been yours,” she finished, seemingly exhausted. “There is no other truth.”
He nodded, thankful for her fortitude in the face of the beast. Everything depended on it, and Regana had done well, despite the threat to him, despite the threat to herself. “Let’s get you into bed. You’re exhausted.”
Regana allowed herself to be led to the bed. As Pauwel settled her beneath a heavy fur, she ran her hand over his jaw.
“I’m sorry, Pauwel. He intends to take you from me, and it is my fault. I should have told him what he wanted to hear and told Kethe that I lied to save you. Why didn’t I do that?” she berated herself.
“Don’t— Please. You did exactly what had to be done. Will you be all right while I speak to Gawen?”
She nodded.
Pauwel kissed her forehead gently. “Take care of my son for me. Rest for him and for yourself. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Be careful, Pauwel. I don’t want to lose you.”
“I will, dear one. I will.”
Chapter Ten
Regana stretched against Pauwel.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. “Let me hold you,” he mumbled. “Just a few moments until I have to rise—”
“Training?” she asked.
“No. The others are coming. I should meet them clothed this time.”
Regana startled. “Now?” The sun was barely more than a line on the horizon. “They’ve been out all night?”
“Yes. Just let me hold you.”
She nodded and sank into his arms. In the end, he waited until Gawen’s horse could be heard on the path outside before he rose and dressed. By the time Regana dressed and followed him, the other warriors had arrived.
At first, the bundle in Wil’s arms didn’t seem to make sense. It wasn’t until she saw the expanse of a woman’s leg over the horse’s shoulder that she realized the bright yellow was a fall of hair over the cloak she was wrapped in. Wil’s face was drawn into tired lines and his eyes burned with fierce emotion unlike any Regana had ever seen on him.
Ditrich shook his head sadly. “Riberta,” he informed them, confirming her suspicions. Wil’s other sister had lighter hair. It could only have been Riberta. “She took off her amulet. We don’t know why.”
Regana buried her face in Pauwel’s shoulder.
“He used her?” Pauwel asked as he wrapped an arm around his wife.
Ditrich swore fluently. “And he fed from her until he killed her,” he announced.
“We hunt the beast tonight,” Wil informed them evenly.
Pauwel nodded. “Agreed.”
“Your women came through safely?” Ger asked, his voice solemn.
“They did. He’s playing with us, terrorizing our women to get to us.”
Gawen settled a hand on Regana’s back. “Perhaps, Kethe should take her in now,” he suggested.
“No,” Regana decided. “I’d like to take a walk.”
She met Pauwel’s eyes, and he nodded his agreement. “You will be all right?” he asked gently.
“Yes. I just want to talk to Emecin. I will be fine.”
Pauwel looked at her uncertainly and ran a hand over their child. “Nothing is wrong?” he asked nervously.
“Our son is fine. I just have need of Emecin’s company for a bit.”
He kissed her forehead lightly. “Then, go. Be careful.”
Regana bowed her head to the other lords and accepted a kiss from Gawen before leaving them far behind.
She shuddered as she considered the sight of Riberta’s body in her brother’s arms. Even if it weren’t so important for her to talk to Emecin, Regana couldn’t bear to see that tableau much longer. She couldn’t listen to what they had to discuss. There would be talk of what was done, and that was more than she could bear to know.
As she walked, she tried to take her mind off of the accusations Riberta made, but it seemed that every head turned to watch her as she passed. Regana tried to reassure herself that they only noticed her as Pauwel’s lady, but the looks weren’t ones of awe or respect. They were wary, suspicious, and even hostile. She hurried the last stretch to Emecin’s home, suddenly feeling exposed without Pauwel by her side to protect her.
Regana breathed a sigh of relief as she came to the midwife’s door.
The older woman answered her knock promptly, and her wide smile was genuine. “Regana!” She enveloped the young woman in her arms. “Come in. What brings you?”
“I must speak to you.”
Her smile faltered somewhat. “Is there a problem? Is the baby troubling you somehow?” Emecin moved to let Regana pass into her main room.
“No. I just need to speak with you.” She met Landric’s curious gaze evenly. “Alone,” she qualified.
The young man, only fourteen but still the most skilled healer the village had seen in many years, straightened and bowed his head to her. “I know my mother’s work, and I am a healer. Perhaps, I can be of some help in this matter.”
“If my problem were of that nature, I would humbly ask your healing,” she assured him. “Please, I must speak with your mother alone.”
“Go, Landric, but do not go far. We will continue your training later.” Emecin hitched her head toward the door, and some unspoken command passed between them.
The young man nodded and bowed to both women again. “As you wish, Lady KreuzStütze,” he answered respectfully. “I will be in the stables when you seek me, Mother.”
“Well enough. Go now.”
Regana sighed as the door closed behind him.
Emecin motioned for her to sit.
“No, I’d rather not,” she replied, fidgeting nervously and seeking for a way to broach the subject.
The midwife shook her head tiredly. “I knew this day would come,” she cursed.
“What day, Emecin?” Her heart started to pound in her breast. She did know. She had to know. But, would Emecin tell what she knew?
“The stories that are circulating. You came here for the truth Eberhard will not tell, the truth all were forbidden by Sibold to tell.”
Regana sank into the offered chair slowly. “I knew you’d know,” she whispered.
“Of course. I placed you in Sibold’s hands myself. How could I not know?”
“What happened? Why won’t Sibold and Eberhard say? Was my birth really the last they attended?” Regana had so many questions that she couldn’t seem to order them and they started tumbling from her lips without end.
Emecin held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “Your birth was the last,” she confirmed.
“Why? What was so important about mine?”
“You were the last, the one who sealed the pact. Your mother knew the moment she saw your coloring.” She shook her head sadly.
“I don’t understand. The last of what? I know I have the coloring of a warrior, but women are not chosen as warriors.”
“You understand that the warriors are typically chosen one or two at a time as the stone foresees the need for them in the future.”
“Of course. The stone rarely chooses more than two. Even three is exceedingly rare. I imagin
e so many nearly caused panic.”
“When Gawen was born with the mark of Syth there was great celebration. A new stone lord is a time of renewal. Then Tilbrand was born two years later. People were hopeful, but they knew there would be bad times in the years ahead. Wilhelmus came next, just on Tilbrand’s heels; and we knew it was more than a small skirmish we faced. Olbrecht came very soon after, and people began to look to Gawen and the others in concern.
“Then came Dado, Cunczel, Pauwel, Bertolf, Redulf, Gerhardus, Geldric, and Ditrich. For those years, every male child born was cursed. Women became afraid to carry a child for fear of losing him to the stone’s choosing. Two years went by with no more cursed babies. The panic was veiled, but the sight of the boys brought before Sibold to play together made the villagers very nervous. This was an army.”
“Go on,” Regana prodded her.
“They had stopped attending births. That is, Eberhard had. Sibold still attended every one. The stone spoke to him and told him to expect more births. He recognized Jörg immediately and knew that the complement of men was complete — save one.”
Regana shivered at the realization that Emecin meant herself, but she pushed away the thought. There were still so many questions. “Why thirteen warriors?”
“You’ve heard the story of the original fall of the beasts. The ancients who fought for the stone, those who coveted its power for their own and those who fought them and trapped their souls in the stone for all eternity, numbered thirteen total.”
“Until Jörg and the others freed them,” she corrected. “Yes, I know the tale.” Her mind worked at something just out of reach. “Sibold knew some of the warriors would go beast, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. He and Eberhard argued about it. Eberhard wanted to stop it from happening, but Sibold said that they could not do so without destroying the balance with the stone and the village itself in the process. They knew Jörg would be the strongest already. The stone named him as such, but even then, they feared whether he would be strongest as beast or warrior.”
“So, they had the complement of thirteen. Why was my birth so important?”
“If you remember the other stories, you remember the woman who gave birth to the first true elder killers, as well.”
