Hidden: Tales of Ryca, Book 1

by Shereen Vedam

  The Erovians gasped. Gilly wasn’t shocked because she had heard this story many times and knew it by rote.

  “Prince Ywen heard his brother’s screams,” Mayla continued, “and came running to his aid, but it was too late. His beloved brother was dead.”

  The muttering in the room increased until Jarrod stilled the sounds with a swipe of his hand.

  “The murderess tried to escape with her evil spawn and they all ran into the balcony corridor,” Mayla carried on, as if unaware of her audience’s growing unease. “She encountered Tamarisk the Charmer.”

  Gilly’s left leg muscles stiffened, as if they instinctively sensed what would come next.

  “The magician attempted to restrain the princess,” Mayla said in her dead voice, “but she threw one of her children at him and fled. The wild child attacked his face and in defense, he threw her over the railing to the ground floor.”

  Gilly curled and uncurled her toes to relieve her leg cramps that sent little shock waves shooting up to her hip.

  “The child hit the ground, her bones cracking. She should have died but her mother cast a spell that kept her soul from departing on its final journey. With the undead child in her arms, she and the rest of her evil offspring fled into hiding.”

  Gilly pictured that poor child falling, heard her screams, felt those bones crack as if they were her own. No matter how crazed the child had been, there was no call for the sorcerer to react that way. She had never been fond of King Ywen, but she held his sorcerer in deep contempt. If he was as powerful as everyone proclaimed, he could have defended himself without tossing a child over that railing.

  Her fists were scrunched so tight, her nails bit into her palms. Slowly, she released the pressure, but her anger against the sorcerer still simmered.

  Shocked silence settled around the room in wake of Mayla’s tale. The dark skinned men and women of Erov whispered to each other, shaking their heads. They acted as if the tale was false. As if Mayla had not spoken the truth. How could that be when this was a familiar story told all across Ryca?

  Lord Jarrod sighed heavily. “Mayla, tell me you jest? You and I have read and heard Prince Keegan’s story many times. How could you speak such falsehood?”

  “She speaks the truth,” Talus said. “Every word she said is as it happened. That is how Prince Keegan died.”

  The Erovians shook their heads, their murmurs growing frantic and Gilly was bombarded by a series of clear pictures where classes of young Erovians were taught another version. It would be interesting to hear their fanciful account of that terrible night.

  For now, the fact that Mayla spoke a different tale than expected by her people showed she was being controlled. The trouble was how to point that out without bringing up the topic of magic? Gilly was tempted to check with her second sight to see if a spell was cast on Mayla. The idea of casting that seeker spell again was terrifying since last time the backlash had blinded her. She was aware of the danger now and might be able to protect herself better, but that wasn’t a guarantee.

  Under Lord Jarrod’s orders, Mayla was led away. With sadness in his eyes, he turned to the remaining two people awaiting his judgment. “Tomas the Brave, tell us what happened the night Prince Keegan the Blessed was killed.” He held up his hand before Tom could speak. “I do not want a retelling of what we just heard. Instead, tell us what you personally saw and experienced that night.”

  That sounded as if Lord Jarrod believed Tom had not only come from Tibor, but had also been present at the time of Prince Keegan’s murder. Was that even possible? Tom would have been no more than eleven or twelve summers. Old enough to be an apprentice to a King’s Warrior.

  She turned to Tom with new eyes. He was leaning sideways, as if standing for so long had drained him. Gilly wanted to put her arms around him but held back. If he had once been a warrior apprentice, he wouldn’t appreciate her pointing out his weakness. Explained why he hated her tending to his wounds.

  “The night seemed no different than any other,” Tom said quietly. “A son begged his father for a chance to guard the prince’s rooms. The father hesitated, but then agreed, saying he would go fetch their supper. All was quiet as the proud boy stood watch in the corridor outside the prince’s chamber. Then he heard footsteps. Tamarisk, the Charmer approached. Once the prince’s advisor, this man was now barred from the castle. The boy’s grip on his sword tightened as his anxious gaze shifted from the intruder to the stairs his father had taken. The man gestured to the boy to approach him.”

  Tom looked at the floor, seemingly lost in time.

  “Go on,” Lord Jarrod said.

  “The boy stood his ground. The man gestured again. Fear exploded in the boy’s heart. His pulse beat rapidly and something heavy but invisible slammed against his chest, pushing him against the door. With a cry, he shoved it back. As the boy fought, a sibilant voice whispered, “Leave or you will die. Run!”

  Tom’s pale cheeks were flushed as he stood beside Gilly, his gaze trained on the floor, as if he couldn’t bring himself to meet anyone’s gaze. “The boy bolted.”

  Gilly’s heart went out to that young Tomas, King’s Warrior Apprentice. She wanted to hug Tom and say, It wasn’t your fault. Tamarisk put a fear spell on you.

  She bit her lips for now, but once this crisis was over, she planned to have a talk with the grown up Tom about magic, and spells, and how effective they could be when used on someone, even if the person was protected as she’d been in that alcove doing her seeker spell. Never mind a young lad all on his own with no magical defenses.

  “The coward that he was,” Tom said, “he ran to find his father rather than stand and face the enemy. When he returned with his father, it was to encounter the pregnant princess escaping with her children. She screamed, He’s murdered my beloved. He’s murdered Keegan.

  “The boy’s father drew his sword and shouted, Who? Who killed Keegan?

  “The princess screamed and pointed over the warrior’s shoulder. Boy and father turned. Before either could react, Tamarisk stabbed the boy’s father through the chest. His father grabbed the sorcerer’s sword hilt and sword hand, and hung on. He shouted to the princess, Run!

  “The boy jumped toward Tamarisk but his father released the sword and flung his boy back. The boy hit his head on the banister and fell, losing consciousness.”

  Tom went quiet.

  Talus was the first to speak. “I’d heard the prince’s bodyguard was killed that night, but I didn’t know he had a son. I’ve lived in the castle for years and never heard of a boy who witnessed those events.”

  Cullen waved in dismissal. “Because there was no witness.”

  “On the contrary,” Lord Jarrod said. “Tom has spoken the truth as it is written in Falcon’s Tome.”

  Tom’s head jerked up. “That’s recorded in your book?” he whispered. “How? No one knew of this except Tamarisk, and the fleeing princess.”

  “We are the historians of Ryca,” Jarrod reminded Tom kindly. “It would never do to have an incomplete version of events. We have not seen the Royal Princess since she fled the castle. She and her children would have been welcomed here, but she chose to go elsewhere for protection.”

  “The princess is wanted for murder,” Talus said.

  “Exactly,” Cullen said, and patted him on the shoulder.

  “At Prince Keegan’s death, and that of his father, the children became the true heirs to Ryca.” Lord Jarrod pointed out. “Whether or not their mother committed murder is questionable, but the fact that her children are heirs to the throne is not.”

  “King Ywen renounced them all as tainted by the magic that killed his brother,” Cullen argued.

  Her attention turned on Tom, Gilly only half listened. Had he truly been at the castle during Prince Keegan’s murder? Had the horror of that night and his role in the murder induced Tom to drink? Her heart softened to the devastated apprentice warrior.

  “Tainted or innocent,” Lord Jarrod said, “Pri
nce Keegan’s offspring are more the rulers of Ryca than Ywen the Blind, who could not see past the hatred in his heart to the good in his brother or the power of magic to do good.”

  “As King’s Warrior,” Talus said, “I am also the protector of King Ywen’s family and those children are his nieces and nephews. I, too, would like to know where they are.”

  “We come now to the third party called to speak the truth.” Lord Jarrod nodded to Gilly. “You have stoutly defended your Tom and he has shown us that he is indeed innocent. I do not for a moment believe you would have hurt my father, Lady Saira-Gilly, but custom dictates that once a Telling Ceremony has begun, it must continue to its inevitable conclusion.”

  “I understand,” Gilly said. “However, I wasn’t present at Prince Keegan’s murder and my knowledge of events of that night is from hearsay, and the same as Mayla’s version.”

  “What I ask of you, my lady, is for you to recall events from your past. Those, too, are recorded in Falcon’s Tome. Tell us what happened the night you hurt your leg.”

  Heat stole up her cheeks as everyone’s attention swung toward her ugliness. Her left leg twitched. Of all the things she’d expected Jarrod to ask her to recite, she never imagined he’d pick on this.

  “I have no memory of that event.” People usually avoided looking at her injured limb, or pretended she did not limp, or talked about her presence slowing their progress but never come right out and ask for details about her gimpy leg.

  Now he wanted her to talk about what caused her deformity? In front of everyone? Standing in the middle of the room, with all gazes aimed at her left leg, the silly thing began to shake. She self-consciously rubbed that hip, and then cringed as every gaze seemed drawn to the area.

  “I have limped since I was a small child,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice, left hand clenched.

  “Tell us more.” His tone was implacable.

  A hand covered hers and small fingers broke into Gilly’s tight fist to link with hers. Skye’s smile was drenched with sympathy. Bevan butted in between them and covered their hands with his in silent support.

  Gilly’s throat swelled with tears. She nodded to the children, took a deep breath and with its release, her resistance to this unpleasant chore dissipated. Closing her eyes, Gilly willed her mind to play back her past. She wove her way through her memories of pastoral life at Nadym. She had arrived there in the dark, terrified of being found by the horsemen.

  Further backward was the cottage in the woods where Mam brought her children in hopes of finding a safe haven. Except the horsemen came there anyway. The time before the cottage was unclear. She recalled snatches. A picture of Mam insisting that her children call two strangers Uncle and Auntie. When Uncle threatened to turn them over to the Village Chief, Mam had taken them and run away.

  Before that was hidden by wisps of danger and hints of betrayal. She did recall a dream of dancing with a man who laughed and hugged her and said she was his little princess. Too far back, that was before the fall.

  Gilly snapped open her eyes as her memory flooded back and her body shook with the shock of that knowledge. Her injury was not the result of a careless accident. A terrible wrong had been done to her. To a child. A child no older than Skye. She gripped her niece and nephew’s hands, determined to never allow these children to be so violated.

  “Someone threw me down a dry well.” She spoke with a fury that masked the terror of that moment. “Mam found me,” she said, her voice trembling, “and kept me from dying, but my hip and leg had shattered when I hit the bottom.” A fiery twinge raced up her leg and she cringed with remembered pain. “There was no time to fix me properly. Mam did enough to get me moving and then we fled.”

  The end of her tale brought a cold sweat that cooled her temper and solidified her resolve to protect her family at all costs. She hugged the children closer.

  “Do you remember who threw you?” Lord Jarrod asked, his voice infinitely gentle now.

  Gilly shook her head, and then suddenly, she did know. “He loved my mam and wanted her to love him back. When she said she never would, he held me out of her reach.”

  She recalled being lifted off her feet by hard ruthless hands, held up for a terrifying moment as Mam cried for mercy. Then the release. She was falling. Gilly shut her eyes at the horror of that memory. Arms circled and held her close in comfort while her body heaved with sobs for the cruelty of a man she’d once trusted.

  When her tears subsided, Gilly realized it was Anna who rocked her, whispered soothing sounds in her ear.

  “I’m all right, Anna.” She wiped at her tears and knelt to hug Bevan tight and soothe the boy who was keening in distress. “I’m safe now.” Leaning into his ear, she whispered. “Nothing like that will ever happen to you or your sister, I swear.”

  He quieted and leaned back to look at her. His bottom lip jutted out and he said, “Me, too!”

  Gilly nodded with pride for the brave boy and then stood to face her sister. “I’m sorry I upset you and your children, Anna.”

  “Nothing for any of us to be sorry about,” Anna said in a hard voice. “The only one who will be sorry when I find who did that to you is the perpetrator.”

  Anna’s powerful reaction was a surprise. She had witnessed her sister furious before, but her anger was usually directed at Gilly, never on her behalf. Anna’s hand came to reverently rest on her Gilly’s injured hip and warmth infused into her, spreading a glow of happiness and suddenly, surprisingly, her left leg no longer ached. She removed Anna’s hand, afraid her sister was unconsciously using her healing magic.

  “A most touching tale,” Cullen said and faced Lord Jarrod, “but what do any of these stories have to do with Lord Aton’s death?”

  “It tells us neither Tomas the Brave, nor Lady Saira-Gilly, murdered my father, for they have spoken the truth.” Jarrod sent Gilly a curiously intense glance and softly added, “The truth as they remember it.” He then continued in a sad tone, “While Mayla has knowingly lied.”

  “Then by your logic, Lord Jarrod,” Cullen said, “Mayla is the one who murdered your father. Since your ceremony has cleared our party of wrongdoing, are we free to leave Erov?” Cullen did a flip with his hands as if to signal this distasteful matter was finished.

  Gilly’s chest tightened in sympathy for poor Mayla, whom she was now convinced was as innocent as Tom. “We cannot leave yet. If Mayla killed Lord Aton, I’m certain she must have done it at another’s instigation.”

  “What makes you say that?” Talus asked.

  Cullen wore a long-suffering expression. “Why say such a preposterous thing?”

  “Mayla had no reason to kill Lord Aton,” Gilly said. “She had a wonderful future to look forward to. Lord Aton loved her like a daughter. Why would she harm him?”

  “She was a raving madwoman earlier,” Anna said. “Maybe she’s lost her mind.”

  Gilly shook off Anna’s support. Her sister could choose the most unhelpful moments to be brutally logical. “We should speak with her. Find out who forced her to act against her better judgment.”

  A scream rang out. Gilly shuddered. With that painful cry, the victim broadcast her anguish in the most amazing fashion. In her head, she clearly saw Mayla glance down at her chest where a dagger protruded. Everyone around Gilly rushed past but she remained transfixed by that haunting vision.

  With a gasp, she picked up her skirts and limped out as fast as her halting gait would take her.

  Chatter of concerned voices led her to Mayla’s crowded chamber. At her insistence, people shifted aside until she could stand beside the girl sprawled on the floor. A dagger hilt stuck out of her midriff. Beside the still body, a pool of red seeped into the rug. Mayla’s face was ashen and her eyes half open. In her stillness, she looked peaceful.

  Gilly’s heart shuddered with pity for this beautiful young woman whose life had been used and then discarded as if she did not matter.

  “She appears to have stabbed herse
lf,” Talus said.

  “She must have,” Lord Jarrod said, shaking his head in disbelief. “The guards outside say no one else entered or left.”

  “Well, this ends the mystery,” Cullen said, standing directly behind Gilly.

  She was unconvinced. Just as they were about to question Mayla, she took her own life? Too easy.

  Lord Jarrod ushered everyone out of the tent. “Let us leave Mayla’s remains in peace, she has suffered enough.” Some protested while others openly cried. Lord Jarrod was insistent and urged everyone to return to his or her quarters and pray for Mayla’s safe journey into the Light.

  Gilly’s family and travel companions left for their quarters and the other Erovians departed the premises, their sorrow hovering like a cloud heavy with rain.

  Gilly laid a gentle hand on Lord Jarrod’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You have lost two people you loved in a short time and in such a violent manner. I have no adequate words of comfort.”

  “My father will always be with me in spirit. As for Mayla,” he shook his head, “I do not understand her actions. My people are taught to value life, so her taking her own is more inexplicable than my father’s murder. Why did she not come to me for help?”

  “Are you sure she took her life?” Gilly glanced through the open tent flap at Mayla’s still body.

  “How do you mean?” Lord Jarrod asked.

  His confusion made no sense to Gilly. “Do not all Erovians mind-speak? Share their thoughts? Before she died, she showed me the dagger used to stab her, but not how it got there. I hoped you might have seen more.”

  “You read her thoughts at her moment of death?” He glanced into the room and then at Gilly with a stunned expression.

  “Didn’t you?” she asked, confused. “It was so clear.”

  “My lady, Erovians can only share our thoughts when we pray and focus. The ceremony is long and takes a great deal of concentration. More significantly, that ability only works between Erovians. Are you saying you are able to see into our thoughts? Can you tell what I am thinking now?”