"I should have known you'd show up to help us again, old friend,” he said with a smile.
"When you and your lady married, our visionaries spoke of Yomnian's hand on your future. Andrixine is the result of your obedience and trust. We must do all we can to protect her. You should know, my friend, before I took my vows I was Rakleer.” He smiled tightly as Lord Edrix reacted to the name. “The Spirit Sword is here. With it, we will draw a confession no one will ever be able to contest."
"He's a ruthless man.” Lord Edrix shook his head. “He was furious when Andrixine refused Feril. When we heard Andrixine and Alysyn were dead, Feril began to court Lorien."
"That must have been interesting,” Andrixine muttered.
"Lorien has grown up a great deal since you vanished, my dear.” He tousled his daughter's short hair. “She told Feril in no uncertain terms to stay away."
"Andrixine, isn't there something else you should tell your father?” Lady Arriena prodded gently.
"More?” Lord Edrix grinned, but uneasiness crinkled his eyes. “What other surprises do you have for me?"
"Andrixine is more than your heir now, Edrix.” She gestured for their daughter to stand. “I've thought much since her warriors rescued me. Finding a suitable husband—"
"Her warriors? But they are Lord Jultar's men."
"We are sworn to her service,” Kalsan offered from his corner. Andrixine gave him a lopsided smile of thanks, but he doubted his words had helped matters.
"Sworn to her?” Lord Edrix repeated. “But why? And what about a husband? I thought we agreed we would give Andrixine plenty of time to choose."
"We don't have time, Father.” Andrixine stood, and her eyes took on that weary somberness that made Kalsan's heart ache. “Mother is right. I must marry and produce an heir quickly. We will be at war with Sendorland within a year; two, if we're lucky."
"But what does this have to do with you?"
"Brother Klee is the former Sword Bearer.” Andrixine straightened her shoulders. “Father, I'm the new Bearer of the Spirit Sword."
Kalsan knew from the tightness in her voice, Andrixine wanted to cry. He wanted to hold her, feel her tears soaking his shirt. There was nothing he could do to help.
* * * *
"FATHER?” DEREK, SIXTEEN years old, followed Lorien into their father's study. “You wanted to see us?"
Behind him came Martyn, Erik and Pollux, fourteen, twelve and nine years old. Andrixine was used to seeing their dark mops of hair flying as they ran and played through life, their long Faxinor faces alight with mischief. The four somber boys, images of their father, were a drastic change she disliked.
"No, I did,” Lady Arriena said, stepping through the door from their private apartments.
"Mamma!” Pollux shrieked, breaking the stunned silence. He nearly flew across the room and leaped into his mother's arms.
The other three boys followed close on his heels. Lady Arriena laughed, tears in her eyes, as the boys nearly pummeled her with their eager embraces. Her hair was mussed, her face wet with kisses and her gown smeared with whatever had stained the boys’ hands. Andrixine knew her mother would cherish the stains forever. She stayed in the corner, hiding in the shadows until the first shock faded.
"They've been too quiet,” Lorien said, joining Andrixine in the corner. She grinned at her sister, abandoning her superior, eighteen-year-old's poise. “Even Nurse was grumbling over how biddable they've been."
"They're worse than starving puppies in the kitchen,” Andrixine said with a chuckle. “I think Mother enjoys it."
"You owe me a long story, you know."
"I know."
After a few more exclamations and rambunctious hugs from Pollux and Erik, the reunion calmed enough that Lady Arriena could sit beside her husband on the couch again. The boys draped themselves all around her, leaning against her knee, perched on the couch arm next to her, hanging over the back of the couch. Pollux insinuated himself between his parents, giggling and grinning when his brothers realized his triumph.
"Yes, I was kidnapped. It wasn't a lie somebody sent to hurt you and your father,” Lady Arriena said, when the boys quieted enough to let her speak. “I was rescued. Would you like to see who found me and brought me home?"
"Lord Jultar?” Derek guessed.
"He was part of it, yes,” Andrixine said, as she stepped from the shadows.
All four boys stared, the room suddenly so silent she could hear them breathe. She fought to keep her face solemn, though she wanted to burst out laughing. Derek stood and took a few steps toward her. She recognized his protective stance, putting himself between danger and those he loved.
"I've cut my hair,” Andrixine said. She stepped closer and held out her arms. “I'd tell you to go see Grennel, but he's been disguised, too."
"Andrixine?” Martyn's voice cracked.
"Rixy's dead,” Pollux shrilled, shaking his head. He hid his face in his mother's lap.
"No I'm not, Polly-dolly.” Andrixine laughed when her little brother jerked his head up and glared at her. He hated that nickname.
"You look like a boy,” Erik said, standing but not leaving his position at the arm of the couch.
"That's the idea, goose. How am I supposed to survive a trip through hostile territory if everyone thinks I'm a soft, helpless girl?"
"Helpless?” Derek began to chuckle. “You're the last one I'd dare call helpless.” He took a few steps closer, opening his arms. The three younger boys followed suit, chattering and exclaiming, grabbing hold of her hands, embracing her, tugging on her braids to make sure it really was her. Their parents made no attempt to hush them. Soon, the happy volume in the small room had grown enough to make Andrixine wince.
Brother Klee and Kalsan excused themselves when the boys managed to tug her over to the couch, demanding her story and quieting enough that she could actually speak. The two men had to report to Jultar, or so Brother Klee said. Andrixine felt a moment of panic—she suddenly felt lost among her own family.
She settled down on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against it, legs folded under herself. Her father's hand rested on her head. Lorien curled up next to him, with Derek and Martyn kneeling before her, Pollux back between their parents and Erik next to her, leaning against their mother.
Andrixine started her tale with waking at the inn and hearing something in the forest. She skimmed what happened to Cedes, Lily and the grooms, yet felt the tension grow in her father's hand resting on her head. Lorien gasped a few times, and she pictured her sister clasping both hands over her mouth. The boys drank in every word of the chaos and blood as if it were some great adventure.
When she described her dreams of the Spirit Sword, no one reacted. When she told of her first sight of the sword her father choked, as if he smothered a sob.
"Brother Klee is Rakleer,” she said.
"Rakleer? The Sword Bearer? And he's here with us?” Derek looked as if he would leap to his feet at any moment and race out to talk with the ancient warrior.
"Brother Klee is the former Sword Bearer,” Lord Edrix corrected, his voice cracking. “The sword called your sister."
"Andrixine?” Delight washed over Martyn's face. He reached for her hand. “Please? Let me ride with you to war?"
"Me!” Pollux squeaked, falling over himself as he tried to reach her with one leap. He fell almost into her lap.
Andrixine choked on a laugh that threatened to turn into a sob as she helped him right himself. The other two boys remained quiet, but she could see the desire, the pleading in their faces.
"Let me finish my story, will you?"
She described her journey with Brother Klee, meeting Jultar's party, how they had been spying. When her brothers asked about the warriors’ adventures, she was glad to tell them to ask the warriors themselves. It would get their minds off her for a little while.
A knock on the door came as she finished reciting their mother's rescue. Andrixine wondered if someone had been
listening outside. If Kalsan or Brother Klee, that was all to the good, nothing discovered. If a household servant or her despised uncle, then danger.
Derek got up to answer the door, admitting Brother Klee and Jultar. The holy man carried the sword, still hidden in cloth. Her brothers stared. Andrixine stood and held out her hand for the sword, to give them what they wanted. Perhaps then she could swear them to silence.
She unwrapped it, and Martyn leaped forward to catch the cloth before it touched the ground. A soft glow surrounded the sword. The room's light was dim enough to make the soft nimbus visible. Gently in the awed silence, she slid the scabbard off the blade and raised it, pointing toward the ceiling. She whispered a prayer of petition and humility as Brother Klee had taught her. The glow grew.
The former Sword Bearer broke the quiet of the moment, stepping forward to take the cloth from Martyn's hand. At his nod, Andrixine slipped the blade back into its scabbard. The two older boys sighed as the bright blade vanished from view.
"Your sister and I need to talk with these lords,” Lord Edrix said, looking around the circle of his children. “I must warn you to keep her presence and the sword a secret."
"But why?” Pollux asked.
"Because someone has tried to murder her, and we have not caught him yet. If he thinks she is dead, then she is safe. Do you understand?"
"I can protect Andrixine,” the youngest boy protested. He stepped up to his sister and grasped her arm. His gaze begged her to believe him and to let him stay.
"You have an important job,” she said, gathering her brothers and sister closer with a gesture. “I need you to be my eyes and ears, while I stay hidden. You'll be my first spies."
"To serve the Sword Bearer is a warrior's greatest honor,” Jultar said, lips twitching as he fought not to smile.
Martyn's eyes grew wide and bright. He traded glances with his brothers, then spun on his heel and hurried out. Lorien and the others followed.
"Good lads, all of them. And the girl,” Jultar added. “How may I and my men serve you, Lord Faxinor?"
"You already have. Now I understand why you hesitated when I asked your help.” Lord Edrix gestured for the men to take seats. Andrixine settled down next to her mother.
"Another task awaits us."
"Yes, and I have more evidence against my brother.” He sighed and took hold of his wife's hand. “Maxil suggested that particular trail through the forest to bring my wife and daughters home. He investigated the inns and decided when to send the soldiers to meet them. I trusted him with the ones most precious to me. I knew he wanted power. I didn't think he would stoop to murder."
"He fooled us all.” Andrixine wished she could ease her father's pain.
"You never trusted him, no matter how kindly he spoke.” Lord Edrix took a deep breath, visibly shaking off his sorrow. “Gentlemen, will you help me find justice?"
* * * *
"WHY CAN'T SHE just appoint her sister or one of the boys to take her place as the heir?” Kalsan asked, as he threw himself into the window seat in Jultar's quarters.
"It isn't that simple,” Jultar said, smiling slightly as he watched Kalsan. “Unless she is proven unworthy as heir, the Council of Lords won't permit that. Holy writ warns of the punishment on those who harm the firstborn. Harm can mean taking the birthright—or letting that heir disavow the birthright."
"I'm glad I'm far and away from such problems!"
"Yes, I imagine you are. Though I think you'd handle the responsibilities well. Between us, my men and I have mended your flaws.” He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table, chuckling when Kalsan glared affectionately at him. “Lad, you honor your oath, worrying for her."
"We can't prove her unworthy as heir, can we?"
"If she is unworthy, the sword would disavow her."
"Disavow how? Kill her?” The younger man shuddered.
"I don't understand why you want to release her from her duties. Her father can carry the estate and his duties for at least two more decades, perhaps more. She should be able to fulfill her duties as heir and Bearer without any conflicts."
"She has to marry and produce an heir. Andrixine—” Kalsan leaped from the window seat and began pacing. “She doesn't want to marry anyone. She hates displaying herself to possible suitors, like a mare looking for a stallion."
"Her words or yours?” his master asked, chuckling.
"Hers!” Kalsan clenched his fists, hating the twisting sensation in his guts as he imagined Andrixine married for duty, no affection between her and her husband. It was as much a crime as if those ruffians had raped her.
Kalsan realized Jultar had been speaking to him, but he hadn't heard a word.
"Sir?” he stammered, turning to face his master.
"I said, such considerations aren't in our hands. Her parents will choose the best husband for her."
"Don't we have a responsibility?” Kalsan retorted. In a quiet portion of his mind, he was amazed at his temerity. In the last few days he had disagreed with his master and struck him. “We're sworn to protect her. Don't we have the responsibility to guard her happiness? Don't we have the right to...” He ran out of words.
"Yes,” Jultar said, his voice so soft Kalsan almost couldn't hear it over the thudding of his own heart. “We do have the right to concern ourselves with the Sword Bearer's welfare. What sort of husband would suit her best?"
"A man who can protect her, who understands battle."
"In other words, not a fancy-dressed farmer who prefers writing poems about battles over fighting them."
"Not exactly like that,” Kalsan protested. He suspected Jultar mocked him.
"A man who will put her comfort, her wishes first. Nobly born, but several steps from the line of descent. A man trained for warfare.” The warlord nodded, an odd sparkle in his eyes.
"Someone she can talk to, someone she trusts."
"That narrows the list. I'll have to ask her parents who of her acquaintance fits those requirements.” Jultar stood.
"You're going now?” Kalsan moved a few steps toward the door, as if he would block the older man's path.
"Of course. The Sword Bearer must present herself to the king soon. When matters are settled here at Faxinor, we will take her to the capital. I think it would be best if Andrixine married before we leave."
"It's not that simple,” he grumbled. His head swam with images of Andrixine enduring a hurried wedding, and a stranger riding with the war band—next to her, where Kalsan rode now.
"No, lad, I think it will turn out to be remarkably simple.” Jultar chuckled, shaking his head as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Kalsan followed a few moments later. It was nearly time to close the trap on Maxil of Faxinor.
Lorien met him in the hallway just outside the great hall. Kalsan barely noticed her blush when he bowed to her; all his thoughts focused on Andrixine. The younger girl let him escort her into the hall. She introduced him to several visiting nobles, friends who had come to support the family in their time of crisis. Kalsan forgot their names seconds after hearing them. He helped Lorien step up to the dais holding the head table and turned to find his place. He was to watch Feril, Andrixine's cousin. After hearing him described a dozen times on the journey to Faxinor, Kalsan thought he could find the hulking young man by his sound and smell alone.
"A word of warning, friend,” a smooth baritone voice said from behind him.
Kalsan turned and nearly burst out laughing. Square face. Wispy brown moustache and beard. Short-cropped hair. Stooped shoulders. A choking cloud of cedar scent enveloping a hulking body overdressed in bright festival clothes. Andrixine had described her overbearing cousin perfectly, with the accuracy born of loathing.
"Yes?” Kalsan hope he smothered his grin in time. From the unchanged seriousness of Feril's expression, he must have succeeded.
"Lady Lorien considers my suit, so kindly do not interfere."
"Forgive me, I was only being courteous.
As a guest in this house, I offer no suit.” If he was to keep Feril from making trouble, it would be smart to be friendly and stay close. “I am Kalsan of Hestrin.” He held out his hand, knowing he would probably dislike Feril's touch.
"Feril of Henchvery.” His grin displayed teeth starting to go brown. His hand was as slimy as Andrixine had said.
A flash of anger hit Kalsan at the mere thought of that hand touching Andrixine.
Feril nodded toward Lorien, seated at the high table and chatting with Derek. “Lovely, isn't she?"
"You're a lucky man, friend.” Kalsan let Feril lead him to a table in the front ranks.
"I was luckier when her sister considered my suit. Lorien will be a good wife. She'll be a fair tumble, but Andrixine...” There was genuine regret in Feril's chunky face.
Could he have had actual feelings for Andrixine? Kalsan felt nauseated at the thought.
"She would have put up a good fight on our wedding night,” Feril continued, his mouth a wet leer. “I was looking forward to taming her, as much as commanding Faxinor."
"Taming her?” He gripped the bench as he sat to keep from reaching for that fat neck.
"She fancied herself a warrior. She trained with Sword Sisters—and you know how that kind hate men. I would have had to break her like a horse. She'd have liked it, too,” he added, his voice dropping to a hungry rumble. “Ah, but she's dead, and Lorien is too much a lady to be any fun."
Kalsan hoped Feril fought long and hard when it came time to make him a prisoner.
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Chapter Fifteen
ANDRIXINE WATCHED AS Lady Arriena finished fixing her hair. It was almost time for dinner, and this evening would prove to be more memorable than any since Derek had brought a sack of puppies to the table. Did her mother find calm by focusing on little things, taking her mind off the coming dinner?
"How do I look?” Lady Arriena said, turning from the mirror at her low dressing table. She smiled at her daughter, turning her head so the tiny crystals in her earrings swung and tinkled.
"Wonderful. Beautiful.” Andrixine felt a tiny knot of tension loosen in her chest. Her mother had visibly improved tenfold since reaching home.
Heir of Fain [Faxinor Chronicles #1] Page 16
