by Cat Bruno
“He has arrived.”
Otieno bowed his head slightly, and asked, “Has he sent you for the boy?”
Without taking her eyes from the diauxie, she answered, “I have not seen him yet. I see no reason why Jarek should miss a lesson. Continue, and let Conri come to us.”
“Caryss,” Aldric warned, walking toward her.
The sun was high and bright, and she could not remember when last she sat beneath its rays, like she used to do often in Litusia. Ignoring Aldric, she walked past him to an iron-wrought bench, and, once there, she lay upon it, throwing her arm across her eyes. There she stayed, listening as the wooden practice swords of Otieno and Jarek banged off one another. She did not hear Aldric, but knew he was there still, as he would not leave her side now, not while they waited for the High Lord. It was cooler in the North than anywhere else she had been, especially so compared to Tretoria and the Southern Cove Islands, but the sun was strong and warmed her bare skin, no doubt causing more freckles to appear across her nose. A few times she found herself dozing, but each time shouts from Otieno would rouse her.
When next she woke, Conri was above her, looking down at her as if she was a stranger.
In a hoarse voice, she whispered, “Did you think me dead?”
From half-closed eyes, she watched his gaze darken. Fighting against the half-smile that threatened to overtake her, Caryss rolled to her side, then slowly sat up, keeping her own eyes on the High Lord. Behind her vision was a blackened haze, and much around her was filtered through a soft fog, except for Conri, whom she would know anywhere.
After blinking several times, her eyes cleared, and, noticing that he watched her, she said, “You have spoken to Conall.”
His words, when they came, were as cold as any she had heard him say, and, for a moment, she knew fear.
“My brother is not yours to command just as my orders are not to be ignored. You should have never left the Tribelands, Caryss.”
Ignoring her pulsing heart, Caryss told him, “Nothing amiss came of it, and the King might fare better because of the fennidi. And let us not forget that I secured you an ally, Conri.”
His eyes blazed and his smooth forehead wrinkled in thought, and Caryss realized that Conall had not yet told him of all that happened with Ohdra.
“You have not yet heard,” she half-taunted. “Ohdra has vowed to defend the Wolf. She stands at your side, now and against what it is to come.”
His expression was unreadable as he stated, “The fennidi offer nothing up without payment. What did you promise her?”
With her eyes on him, to gauge his reaction, she called, “Freedom.”
“How is that yours to give?” he growled.
“It was not me who offered it. Our daughter is of the North, and it is she who can promise what you and I cannot.”
“She risks too much,” he hissed. “Caryss, it is not safe for her to time-walk so often.”
With a shrug, she told him, “It will be much less once she is born. As Aldric explained, it is easier to travel to a place where you once were, yet nearly impossible to go where you have never been. For now, she is always with me, and when I call, it is never difficult for her to come.”
“Conall was with you for all of this?” he asked, pushing his hands through his dark hair.
When she nodded, he said, “Then we will discuss it at length later. Now, we must talk about the boy.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she told him, “It has been discussed already between us.”
“Call for him.”
Knowing that he would not back down, she rose from the bench, and directed Otieno to bring Jarek to her. She could feel Conri’s gaze and knew that he did not like that she had included the Islander. He had not forgotten that Otieno had been able to kill the Crow, and he must know, too, that the longsword was still across his back. With no words, Caryss wanted it known that she would not allow Jarek to be hurt.
Aldric joined them as well, and, for a moment, Caryss looked toward Conri, his dark eyes greeting her gray-green ones.
Without lightening his eyes, he warned, “I could kill them all, Caryss, and only you would remain. I tire of this petulance. If the Islander reaches for his sword or the mage for his fire, they will die. And the boy with them.”
Her lips trembled and her tongue thickened, and, when words would not come, Caryss dropped her head, squeezing her eyes closed until the throbbing in her neck and the burning at the back of her throat lessened. Too often she forgot that he was Tribe, just as the girl would be, she reminded herself. Before she had fully recovered from his words, Conri was speaking, and she forced her eyes open, staring just past him as he talked.
“Jarek,” the High Lord called, “Have you confessed all that you know of your kin?”
With a shaky voice but clear and focused eyes, Jarek answered, “Each day I learn more of them. Am I to update you each night?”
Caryss hastily looked away, raising an arm to hide her pleasure at the boy’s words.
With her eyes to the ground, she heard Conri step nearer, his boots nearly silent in the thick grass.
“There are few of you in Cordisia, Jarek. You might be better served to travel across the Eastern Sea to seek the others.”
Shaking his head, Jarek told him, “Cordisia is my home, and I do not need to tell you that by birth-right, Rexterra should one day be mine.”
“A boy’s dream,” Conri uttered.
“I do not think the dream will die as I age, my lord.”
In a few moons, Jarek had bloomed under the tutelage of Aldric and Otieno, and he faced the Tribesman with his chin high and his cheeks flushed.
As if he was a king’s son, Caryss thought.
“If one day you sit the throne, what will the Tribe be to you? Friend or foe?”
Conri’s question rang loud through the courtyard, each present listening and awaiting the boy’s reply.
When it came, Caryss nearly embraced him.
“I am friend, and will be, unless given a reason to become foe.”
“Easy words for a child to proclaim,” Conri laughed, “But harder ones for a man grown to keep.”
“I have given you my word,” Jarek sputtered, frustration growing.
As if teasing, Conri mockingly called, “I would be a fool to risk the safety of my people on the crackling vows of a boy who sounds and looks child-like.”
“Do you name me oath-breaker?” Jarek cried.
With another laugh, this one biting and sharp, the High Lord told him, “Perhaps.”
Jarek’s narrow wooden sword swung across the space that separated him from Conri faster than any could move to stop it. Across the High Lord’s chin, a red welt began to form.
Caryss rushed forward, hoping to shield Jarek, but felt a hand on her arm, and turned to find Otieno pulling her back as he hissed, “This is his fight, not yours.”
When Jarek pulled the sword back to his shoulder and began to swing again, Conri reached for it, grabbing it quickly, as he should have done the first time, Caryss knew, remembering the speed with which he could move. With little effort, the sword was in his hand. Before she could blink, he threw the sword at Jarek’s feet and waved his other hand. As they all watched, wood turned to flame, orange and crackling until there was nothing left of the sword and blackened ash floated around them all.
His blue eyes shining as she had never seen them, round and sparkling, as if the sea had frozen, Jarek screamed, “I will not be named oath-breaker!”
With no weapon and his arms at his sides, he rushed to the where Conri now stood. He stood near the High Lord’s chest and quivered.
“When my word is given, it will be so until I die.”
The ice in his eyes had reached his words, and Jarek did not look away from the Tribesman.
Rubbing at his chin, Conri said, “I will ask them again in another ten moon years.”
“Ask them as often as you like. They will not change.”
Conri’s smile
vanished as again he questioned the boy. “Will you vow to never harm my daughter or those who aid her?”
With a hand to his chest and his bright eyes on the High Lord, Jarek crisply answered, “Just as I have given Caryss my word, I will give it to you High Lord Conri. I vow to protect the girl and her kin as if they were my own, to fight for her and at her side. I offer my sword, and I offer the sky.”
“And you will never bring the sky upon her?”
“Nor will I bring it on you or your kin, my lord.”
After a moment, Conri stepped toward Jarek, and, with his hands raised, palms up, as if in peace, said, “What is it that you want in exchange?”
None moved, not even to draw breath.
“You will help me win the throne.”
It was Conri who moved first, stepping closer to Jarek. As Caryss, Aldric, and Otieno watched, he reached out his hand, paused, then clasped the offered hand of Jarek.
“The crown will be yours, Jarek.”
Suddenly, Caryss understood the game that had long been played. More, she knew how little her part mattered. And why he had allowed the boy to enter the Tribelands at all. Her eyes filled with tears, her throat thickened and dried. Her hands shook, and her vision blurred.
I have given him what he wanted all along.
Rexaria.
Across the field, leaning against the glass-paneled door stood Willem. Caryss, even through the mist of knowledge, recognized him from afar. He had come, just when she needed him most, and she rushed across the courtyard until she collapsed into his embrace. She did not need to turn back to know that they watched.
*****
24
“Not too long now,” she mumbled, looking down at her expanding belly as she paced across the hallway.
It had been nearly a moon since Willem had arrived, and, in that time, they had learned of his correspondence with his cousin, who still did not know that Jarek was with them. Both Caryss and Jarek had begged Willem to keep it so, and, finally, fearing for the boy’s safety, Willem agreed.
When she arrived in the small courtyard to the east of the complex, Willem was already there, seated on a bench of stone, with a thick parchment in his hand. Her life pulse quickened as she hurried to him.
Nearing, she called, “What do you have?”
The letter dropped into his lap, and his face darkened as he told her, “Word from the North.”
With a voice full of doubt, she asked, “Who knows you are here?”
“My father.”
“Does he not live in the King’s City?”
Rubbing his hand over his face, he mumbled, “It seems that he has been in Eirrannia for a half-moon, on orders from Crispin.”
“What?” she shrieked, trying to reach for the letter.
He did not release it, but pointed to the scrolling words and explained, “As we have long suspected, Delwin has sent an army to track you and bring the King back to Rexterra. For the last two moons, his men have been in Eirrannia, with coin and sword, looking for you or information that could lead to you.”
“And now Crispin hunts me too,” she whispered.
Shaking his head, Willem sighed. “Crispin and my father have sought to put an end to this madness. Yet it has been moons, Caryss, and Crispin can no longer buy you time. Delwin means to strike.”
Falling heavily onto the bench beside Willem, she asked, “Delwin plans to attack Eirrannia if he does not find me?”
“Just so,” Willem agreed.
His words were not unexpected, yet Caryss felt as if she could no longer breathe.
Nearly choking for air, she cried, “The king needs more time.”
After a moment, her throbbing chest slowed, and Caryss added, “Herrin fares better each day, and, with Gregorr’s help, his poisoned stomach is healing. Just yesterday he was able to walk the length of the outer courtyard. He is weak, but his mind is regaining its sharpness, although he remembers nothing of our journey here. Do you think he is fit to rule?”
Without looking up at her, Willem answered, “Caryss, I no longer think my uncle will ever regain his throne. Too much time has passed, and Delwin has tasted the sweet juices of the crown. Crispin is too powerless to stop what his brother plans. Delwin has the Royal Army behind him, while Crispin has nothing. Even the merchants now fear to go against Delwin. Crispin is many things, but he has never been cunning enough to rule, and his heart is too soft.”
“I had thought you to be Crispin’s ally.”
“Caryss, I know that you learned little but healing at the Academy, so let me try to explain. With Herrin gone, the throne has been open. Word has spread, with help from Delwin I would guess, that Crispin is responsible for the King’s disappearance. So while Delwin valiantly leads a search for him, Crispin waits in the palace and appears to do nothing. Delwin is deft and moved with swiftness to turn Herrin’s absence into his own gain.”
Folding her hand in between his, Willem continued, “Think on this. Delwin’s men will wage war if Eirrannia does not tell him where to find the King. Yet, as you have told me, none but the fennidi know. There is no outcome but one.”
Slowly, she was beginning to understand. She was not what was sought. Nor was the King.
“Delwin will strike. In the name of the King. As prize, with or without Herrin found, the throne will be his.”
Aching and spinning, Caryss mumbled, “I will not let Eirrannia suffer for my crimes.”
His gold-rimmed eyes looked at her with kindness, yet his words cut.
“It is too late.”
She had brought war to her people. To the people her daughter hoped to rule. All for vows to a king that cared little for the North.
“There is little else to do but return the King and let him defend our cause. Send word to Crispin,” she told him, her words cropped and shallow, as if defeated.
“Will he recall enough to be of use?” Willem asked.
Shrugging, she answered, “He has had no poppy milk for nearly two moons, and most of the poison is gone from his body. Yet, his thoughts are fog-touched at times. In truth, I know not what he will tell them.”
“Caryss,” he cried, “You will be sending a half-mad man who remembers little back to Rexterra! Does he remember giving his word to keep Jarek unharmed? Or does he forget that you even have the boy?”
Closing her eyes, Caryss confessed, “He forgets much, a result of henbane that we had given him to ease him off the poppy milk, I believe. He does not think himself a captive, Willem, nor does he think we are trying to harm him. There is no pattern to what he remembers and what he does not.”
“As he is now Herrin is little more than a child’s toy, and Delwin will use him as such.”
“What choice do we have but to risk the King’s return?”
His voice deeper than before, Willem growled, “Eirrannia will face war. If not now, then soon.”
“We have played into Delwin’s hand,” he continued, “Perhaps without knowing we did so. With or without his father, the throne is his, even though all knew that Crispin was heir. Caryss, despite your attempts, you were not unseen while in the King’s City. It was Crispin who sent for you, which, by now, I believe Delwin must suspect. What followed was treason, or near enough to look as if it was. If Herrin is returned, he will be questioned. And you are unsure what he will answer.”
In a whisper, Caryss mumbled, “Nothing has turned out as I had thought it to.”
When he said nothing, she asked, “What would you have me do now, Willem?”
“Choose. Which matters more to you, delaying war against Eirrannia or giving the Rexterran throne to Delwin?”
“I care little for Rexterra,” she snorted. “Is there a way to prevent both from happening?”
Rising from the bench, Willem answered, softly, “Go with Herrin to the King’s City and meet with Delwin, who, if I know him at all, will no doubt have you in chains before the meeting ends. If you are not in Eirrannia, he has less cause to strike.”
“Conri will not allow it.”
“Nor should he.”
“Willem, if Rexterra attacks Eirrannia because of me, would the Tribe not become involved as well? What then?”
“Now you begin to see, Caryss. From what I have learned since I’ve been here, there is war brewing between the Crows and Wolves. Conri would be a fool to send his men to defend Eirrannia when a stronger enemy is at his own door.”
Shaking her head back and forth, Caryss gasped, “Have I caused all of this?”
Willem placed an arm around her and wrapped her in a tight embrace, as he had done in her final moons at the Academy. Into her ear, he whispered, “My dear, Cordisia has long been a sought after prize. Man, mage, and Tribe all have battled for her heart and her rule. It has been lifetimes since a great war has been fought, but the winds have changed.”
“My daughter will be a weapon,” she sobbed, clinging to him, making sense of all that had occurred over the last half-moon year.
He pulled himself from her, and gently said, “The girl is not yet born, and, even then, she will not be of age for many moon years to come. Perhaps by then, the winds will have changed once again and Cordisia will be at peace.”
With tears on her cheeks and eyes red and swollen, Caryss cried, “I have always known there was much wanted of her, yet Conri told me little. She will be his sword, Willem, and shield between Cordisia and Tribe.”
“Or she will be queen.”
“Queen! Of where?” Caryss cried, spittle flying and snot running from her nose.
“Eirrannia. Rexterra. All of Cordisia. She will have her pick.”
“You might think me a fool, Willem, but I have long known that she would need an army. What else have I been doing these moons but finding her ally and soldier?”
