The Reward of Anavrea

by Rachel Rossano

  “I still haven’t thanked you enough for everything you did for Lirth and Trysta.”

  “I was only doing what every other citizen would do.”

  “No.” He frowned. “One thing I have learned is that not all of my citizens would put their lives on the line for me and mine. Thank you.”

  Jayne wasn’t sure how to respond. “You are welcome.”

  He smiled. “You have captured the heart of one of the few men whom I would trust with my life. He saved Lirth’s life. You will make a wonderful couple. I am tempted to take you back with us to the capital to protect my new family.”

  “Sire...”

  He held up his hand. “I will not do that. Your loyalty needs rewarding and bringing you to Ana City would be the furthest thing possible from that. Instead, I will ask if we can return.”

  “Of course,” Jayne responded. He was the King of Anavrea and could order that they open their doors to him and his family. However, he was asking. Jayne didn’t miss the significance of the gesture.

  He smiled. “Thank you.”

  ~~~~~~

  “You look beautiful, Jayne,” Ryana proclaimed as she surveyed Jayne in the deep green gown made for the occasion.

  “Liam will love you on sight, if he didn’t already.” Patti smiled as she adjusted the skirt.

  Jayne looked down at her shaking hands. She was flawed and imperfect. Liam deserved better. What would happen when he realized whom he had married? Would he... She couldn’t finish the thought.

  “When I get married, can I wear a dress like that Jayne?” Rowana asked as Madame Kerri brushed out Jayne’s hair so it shone like a silken waterfall of rich brown.

  “You will have one of your own,” Patti assured her. “I will make you one of gold or red, just for you.”

  “Me too?” Ryana asked.

  “Certainly,” Patti agreed as she patted the last fold into place.

  Ryana and Rowana danced about, pretending that their best dresses of simple brown were rich flounces of satin. Jayne closed her eyes and tried to close out the thoughts and the jarring fear that coursed through her. She was moments away from the point of no return. She was giving herself to a man, and there was no guarantee he was who he presented himself to be. Even if he was, he could change and it would be too late. She would be at his mercy, to be treated as he wished.

  Someone knocked on the outer door.

  “Lord Tremain, you shouldn’t be here.” Patti tried to block his view of Jayne as she turned to see him enter the room.

  Dressed in dark brown leggings and the king’s second best tunic and jerkin, he looked every inch the noble and very far from the calm, dependable soldier Jayne had grown to love. However, as her eyes rose to his face, her heart leapt. The emotion within his gaze was achingly familiar.

  “I need to be here, Patti,” he replied.

  “But...”

  “Patti,” he said, dropping his gaze to frown at the older woman, “go.”

  “Yes, sir.” After dropping a curtsey in his direction, she gathered the twins and herded them out of the room.

  Liam waited until the door closed behind them before speaking. “You are beautiful.” His low voice soothed her, but she didn’t raise her gaze. Instead, she concentrated on her hands and straightening an already perfect fold. His solid tread crossed the room, and he took her hands in his. His large thumbs rubbed the backs of her fingers. “Look at me, Jayne.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Jayne.” He dropped her left hand and touched the side of her face. Instinctively Jayne turned into the caress and a tear slipped past her guard. Kurios, help me. Fear washed over her, nearly submerging the desire and trust to which she clung. Then as the wave ebbed, the love in his touch pulled her confidence to the surface.

  “You will not bow out now, Jayne. You can’t. I won’t let you. I won’t let you destroy your hope because of the guilt that your father heaped upon you. Jayne, I am not going away. I never will. Trust me. Trust the Kurios, the one who brought us together, and love me.”

  “I already love you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to bow out, but I am weak.”

  Liam took a deep breath and captured her face between his hands. Gently he eased her face up so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. “Then let me be your strength. I can be certain enough for the both of us. You are the one the Kurios made for me, and I refuse to let you go.” His dark blue eyes reached into her soul, searching for something he knew was there.

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  “I love you.”

  “Then marry me and trust the Kurios with the rest. Can you do that?”

  Taking a deep breath, Jayne closed her eyes against the tears that wanted to flood them. “Yes.”

  Liam shifted his hands. Cradling her chin, he brushed her chin with his thumb. Then before she could protest, he drew her into his arms and kissed her. It was gentle and sweet, but laced with the promise of a lifetime of much more. His right hand slipped into her hair, ruining the silken waterfall. Jayne didn’t care. Slipping an arm around his neck, she kissed him back.

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Some of the readers of my early drafts asked me questions regarding my representation of God in my works. Since this is one of the first of my novels to be published in which the Kurios plays a very visible role in the storyline, I figured I should clarify some things for those who wish to know the intentions of the author.

  The world of the five kingdoms (Anavrea, Larkaria, Braulyn, Sardmara, and Rhynan) is a fantasy. They share a similar Bible and biblical history to ours. They call their scriptures the manuscripts. They use kurios, a transliteration of the Greek word for lord when referring to God.

  The historical formation of their religion diverges from our actual history. However, I have endeavored to keep the nature of God, his holiness, grace, and those aspects of his character the same as what he has revealed in the Bible.

  My work is meant to point to the real God who redeemed us from our sin through the life, death, and resurrection of his Son. Thus, the Gospel remains the same. We are saved by grace, apart from our works, on the basis of Christ’s death on the cross (Romans 4, Ephesians 2).

  About the Author

  Rachel Rossano is a happily married mother of three children. She spends her days teaching, mothering, and keeping the chaos at bay. After the little ones are in bed, she immerses herself in the fantasy worlds of her books. Tales of romance, adventure, and virtue set in a medieval fantasy world are her preference, but she also writes speculative fantasy and a bit of science fiction.

  Rachel Rossano loves to interact with readers.

  Blog ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ YouTube~ GoodReads

  Also written by Rachel Rossano

  Duty (First Novel of Rhynan)

  Honor (Second Novel of Rhynan)

  Wren: A Romany Epistle Novel

  The Making of a Man (A Rhynan Short Story Anthology)

  The Crown of Anavrea (Book One of the Theodoric Saga)

  The King of Anavrea (Book Two of the Theodoric Saga)

  The Mercenary’s Marriage

  Word and Deed

  Exchange

  The Crown of Anavrea

  Eve covered her head and crouched low in the raspberry patch. She concentrated on not making a sound. The blare of the horn and the cries of the hunters faded. Lowering her hands, she strained her ears. Not even the echo of their crashing in the distance remained. The birds stayed silent, but considering the recent ruckus, they might have all fled.

  A groan broke the unnatural silence.

  She froze and listened, heart in her throat. A pained, male grunt came from about three feet to her left. Cautiously she turned her head. A stranger stared at her through the tangle of bushes between them.

  A wild mess of brown hair fell over his dark blue eyes as he regarded her in alarm. Sweat plastered the hair to his forehead. He observed her with more of a feverish glaze than true understanding. Pain etched
lines about his eyes.

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then shook his head. Falling forward, he then rolled onto his back and lay still.

  Eve hurried to untangle the thorns from her tunic.

  Free at last, she crept out of the patch and approached him. Fear and instinct screamed she should flee. Instead she paused. If she stopped to help him, she would be beaten. Her master warned her to stay away from the king’s men.

  Well, the king’s men or not, the pursuers were gone. As their prey, he could hardly be one of them. Was he worse?

  She inched forward and a twig snapped under her knee.

  “Go away and leave me be,” he ordered.

  “What will become of you?”

  He stared into the sky above the trees. “My pursuers return.” His chest still heaved from his recent exertion. “I die.” Restlessly, his hand clenched and released at his side as though he was fighting the urge to run.

  “I know of a place where you can hide.” She watched his lean form for a reaction. “It is nearby.”

  He stopped moving. Finally, as though sensing she would not leave, he spoke. “Come over here. I want to see you.”

  She crept to his side. As soon as she drew close, she could see the source of his pain. A shallow gash ran across his left arm above the elbow and an even more serious injury marred his right leg above the knee. The leggings, torn and caked with a combination of dried and fresh blood, trailed filth in the wound. She was calculating how she could slow the bleeding when he commented.

  “You are only a child.”

  She brought her eyes to his face and bit her tongue. This was not the time to argue her age. She returned to assessing his injuries.

  “If you are wondering whether or not I am able to walk, stop.”

  “I will help.” She met his eyes with a cool determination that left no room for doubt.

  After a moment, he broke her gaze and returned to staring at the sky.

  “What if I want to die?”

  The Crown of Anavrea

  Book One of the Theodoric Saga

  Available Now

  Wren

  A Romany Epistle Novel

  Tourth Mynth

  Snow turned the courtyard into a mess of slosh and muck. The space didn’t welcome the kind of activity I intended. My hands itched to grasp a weapon and everything in my being screamed that I should destroy something. Not a safe state of mind for plotting logically or sitting still. I strode through the slush to the heavy keep door. The great hall would work perfectly for my short term plans, open area and shelter from the elements.

  I turned back before opening the door. Wren was close on my heels.

  “Care for a round of sparring?”

  Her strange eyes cleared from worried brown to an amused amber. “Do you have an extra sword?”

  I shook my head as I shoved the door. “I was thinking along the lines of staffs or cudgels, something that won’t kill you if I miscalculate.”

  “Miscalculate? You should be a bit more concerned about me hurting you.” The wooden door closed behind her with a muffled thump. “Do you want to be disturbed?” She indicated the repaired bolting system.

  “Lock it. Let them wonder if we are killing each other.”

  The worn stone floor, spread with rushes, lay empty. An old trestle table dug out of storage rested against the far wall, and the newly-beaten tapestries adorned the walls. I ignored them. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. I needed to drive history from my mind, far from my mind. Exercising until I was too exhausted to think would numb the pain. It would distance the ache enough so I might progress beyond the inclination to kill the enforcer slowly with my bare hands. He killed my parents!

  “Weapons?” Wren’s voice cut through my thoughts at just the right moment.

  “Take your choice.” I indicated the rack of various implements next to the trestle table. Walking to the far end, I shed layers of clothing down to tunic and britches. “Are you sure you are up for this?” Discarding the last overtunic on the heap, I shivered in the frigid air. I welcomed the discomfort.

  “Of course,” she said from right behind me. “On guard.”

  A wooden club whizzed past my head. Striking the wall inches past my shoulder, it clattered to the floor. I stared for a second. Gone was the quiet, withdrawn woman I thought I knew. Hair wrapped around her head, stripped to her leather jerkin, shirtsleeves, and leggings, she moved like a sleek cat, feminine, yet deadly. Confidence radiated from her as she whipped another cudgel into her dominant hand.

  “Remember what I do for a living.”

  She advanced and I retreated to the fallen weapon. Scooping it into my hand, I swung it up into a defensive stance seconds before she struck at my shoulder.

  I retaliated with a series of strokes that should have reduced her to begging for leniency. Instead, she met me hit for hit, backing away into the center of the room. Although she gave ground, I grew wary. She was holding back. Fury boiled in my belly.

  I changed my attack. After feinting to the left, I jabbed at her right. She took advantage of a small defensive weakness and landed the first blow, a hard jar to the ribs. I renewed my onslaught, taking a risk. She saw the move and sidestepped at the last moment, dancing out of my reach. Breathing hard, we faced each other.

  “The point of this was for me to work out some frustration.”

  “I know.”

  “This is hardly satisfying.”

  She laughed, a clear sound that echoed in the rafters. “I am not about to submit to a beating just to help your frustration level. I will help you wear yourself out, though.” She leapt forward and attacked again.

  Wren

  A Romany Epistle Novel

  Available Now

  Duty

  First Novel of Rhynan

  "The red one is mine," he said.

  I didn’t raise my head although instinct urged me to. Father had called me Red. He said I was born screaming, skin deep red like the beets in the garden and hair fiery like the setting sun. The man who spoke was not my father.

  I glanced at him from beneath my cloak’s hood. Arrogant in his size and superior mass, his eyes picked me out of the writhing mass of captives. Early morning sunlight glinted off plain armor and an unadorned helm, yet the unwashed barbarians treated him with the respect due a commander.

  The crowd of women around me parted for the soldier fulfilling his order. Mothers moved back with babes in their arms, toddlers clinging to their skirts. Their fingers clutched older children’s hands or shoulders. A living mass, their voices silenced by the army surrounding them. Their faces spoke eloquently of their fear.

  The soldier, smelling of sweat and sour wine, grabbed my left arm and dragged me out from among them. I didn’t want to bring harm to the women around me. The soldier would injure many before subduing me. I allowed him to pull me toward the commander with only minimal resistance.

  Once free of the captives, however, I yanked from the man’s grip in an attempt to run. Three pairs of rough hands caught hold of my arms before I managed more than a few steps. The stench of their unclean bodies turned my stomach. I gagged as I fought them. They dragged me through the dust and dumped me at his feet.

  I struggled up only to be brought down again. Pressure behind my knees forced me to kneel.

  I lifted my face to glare at the commander.

  “Remove her hood.”

  Someone pulled my cloak half off my shoulders in his enthusiasm. Red curls fell free in a wild mass about my shoulders.

  Silently I cursed the color. If only I had been blessed with plain brown or even blond tresses, I could have hidden in plain sight.

  “My Lady Brielle Solarius, I presume.”

  He had the audacity to meet my glare. His eyes were only glimmers beneath the beaten metal and leather of his helmet. He made no bow or any show of the honor due me. I was a noblewoman. I didn’t claim the right of deference often, but still the fact remained.

&nbs
p; “Might I know your name, barbarian?”

  Duty

  First Novel of Rhynan

  Now Available

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