Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  “You’ve changed,” Tee-Ri said.

  “You haven’t.”

  Tee-Ri’s face registered the wound. For just a moment, she showed her age, and she was a sad, tired woman.

  “I’m a practical woman, Waeh-Loh. The world changes, trees sprout, trees die. One either flows with time or is swept aside by it. Surely, you must know this. Or has your life among the humans turned you into one as well?”

  “You tell me, Mother. You’ve spent more time in their beds than I have.” Tee-Ri’s cheeks were now a bright red. Willow pressed her attack. “And while you’re at it, Mother, when’s the last time you gave any thought to my real father?”

  Tee-Ri raised her hands in half-surrender. She smiled ruefully.

  “Like I said, I’m a practical woman.”

  “You’re a cold, heartless bitch.”

  “Ah,” Tee-Ri said, her eyes sparkling with malice, “and I see you’ve grown up to be just like me. Just look at yourself. Your hair is like straw, your body is a cylindrical lump, and your face looks like it hasn’t smiled in a thousand years. At what point did you decide to stop being a woman, Waeh-Loh? At what point did you decide to stop being an elf? My lovely, smiling, darling daughter has grown up to be a calcified statue of an old man. You can’t even get within a hundred leagues of Bryanae without hearing of the famous stoic elf Willow, that humorless, single-minded shadow of a woman.” Tee-Ri snorted. “Why, I’ll bet you’re still a virgin.”

  Willow pressed the point of her rapier against Tee-Ri’s throat again. Willow’s hand shook with the effort to restrain herself.

  “You know that’s not true,” Willow said with a small quaver in her voice.

  Tee-Ri retreated a step, but Willow advanced, keeping the rapier pressed against her mother’s throat.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  “Because I’m your mother!”

  A grim smile played at the corner of Willow’s lips. She pressed the point of her rapier an infinitesimal distance further into Tee-Ri’s throat.

  “Not good enough.”

  Tee-Ri started to shake. Her eyes cast about, seeking help. All around them, the fair citizens had gathered to watch the spectacle. The mood was of curiosity, though, and not of outrage. The people of Bryanae were excited, yes, but no doubt looked at this confrontation as delightful entertainment.

  “There are people around. They’ll see!”

  Willow shook her head.

  “Not good enough,” she said. She pressed the rapier in a little more. A thin stream of blood trailed down Tee-Ri’s slender white neck.

  “Stop it, Waeh-Loh!”

  “It’s Willow.”

  “What?”

  “Call me Willow. That’s my name now.”

  Tee-Ri began to cry and hyperventilate. She inserted sporadic sobs as punctuation.

  “You can’t kill me!” she said.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  Suddenly, Tee-Ri’s eyes focused.

  “Because I’m here to deliver Warlord Jabar’s terms.” Buoyed by this revelation, a small smile played upon Tee-Ri’s beautiful, savage face.

  A cold lump formed in Willow’s belly. “Terms?”

  Tee-Ri’s smile broadened. She took a step away from the rapier. This time Willow didn’t compensate.

  “Yes, terms. You didn’t think that it was just a coincidence that I came to see you when I did, did you? Don’t be ridiculous. Terms for the return of your prince, of course.”

  Chapter 12

  Willow stared at her mother, stunned. The murmuring of the growing crowd was a buzzing in her ears, distracting her, interfering with cogent thought.

  “Well?” Tee-Ri said, dabbing at the blood on her throat with a yellow silk handkerchief. “Do you want to hear the terms?”

  “You’re behind this?” Willow’s world reeled drunkenly. She concentrated on keeping her feet planted solidly upon the road.

  “Do you want to hear them?”

  Willow shook her head. “Not me. You should deliver them to the Queen and her advisors.”

  “No. I’ll deliver them to you, and only you, Wae—Willow.”

  Willow took a step back, interposing her rapier between them, as if she could somehow parry her mother’s words.

  “Why me?” she said.

  “Do you want to hear them?”

  Yesterday had been one truly awful day, and today wasn’t looking much better. Willow had no right to negotiate on behalf of Bryanae; less right, in fact, than almost anyone else in the city.

  She sighed.

  “Very well. Tell me.”

  Tee-Ri’s smile broke into a full grin.

  “These are Warlord Jabar’s terms for the safe return of Prince Vazerian of Bryanae.

  “One: five million gold imperials.”

  “Impossible,” Willow said. “Bryanae could never afford that. Not even if it called in every debt ever owed it and then borrowed more.”

  “Two: five ships of the line.”

  “Again, impossible. As you must know, five warships would be a quarter of Bryanae’s fleet. The Queen will never give them to you. I assume your third term will be equally preposterous?”

  “Three: Jabar wants you, Willow.” Tee-Ri said, her eyes twinkling. “Come home. Let’s be a family again.”

  Willow felt a sudden chill throughout her body. “No.”

  Tee-Ri nodded knowingly. “Talk to your queen about it.”

  “No,” Willow said. She felt numb as she said it. She couldn’t even be sure she hadn’t mumbled the word with her frozen lips.

  “Talk to your queen. Come on, Waeh-Loh,” she said, adding emphasis to the ancient name, “where is that famous sense of duty of yours? The Warlord has kidnapped your prince and now offers you his terms. Are you telling me that you’re refusing to deliver them to your queen, the Prince’s mother?”

  Willow sighed and her head bowed. After a few moments, she looked up and nodded. “Very well.”

  Willow turned to depart, but Tee-Ri grabbed her by the shoulder.

  “I haven’t finished with y—!”

  Willow grabbed Tee-Ri’s hand in a wrist lock before she could finish her sentence. Her mother cried out and her knees folded.

  “Let go! You’re hurting me.”

  “Don’t touch me, mother,” Willow snarled. “You make my skin crawl.”

  “Please!” Tears were dripping down Tee-Ri’s face, leaving trails in her makeup.

  Willow released her mother.

  “You’re not my daughter!” Tee-Ri shouted, rubbing her wrist. “You’ve changed!”

  “You should remember that,” Willow said.

  She spun on her heels and marched towards the castle. Behind her, she heard her mother’s sobs and each one was a dagger in her gut.

  Chapter 13

  Willow concentrated on keeping herself upright and moving. The crowd that had gathered now parted for her. Gossiping murmurs nipped at her like horseflies. She wanted to scream at them, to stab them each with her blade. She wanted to flee.

  Discipline, damn it. Discipline.

  She had thought she had built a mighty fortress of self-control, unassailable by any conventional means. Yet it had only taken the well-placed blow of a few horrid days to shatter the edifice and leave her tottering on the brink of ruin.

  No, no, no! Discipline.

  The first true light of dawn was now breaking over the horizon. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for her duel with Snyde. Her lip quivered and she barely suppressed a sob. She would not be late for her duel, but neither would she fail to deliver her mother’s demands to the Queen. At the infirmary, she addressed the corporal who had informed her of Tee-Ri’s arrival.

  “I need you to deliver a message,” she said.

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Willow did not correct him. Instead, she led the corporal into the infirmary. Tamlevar sat up as she entered. “Willow? What’s happening? Who’s that other elf? What does she want?”

&n
bsp; “It’s not your concern.” She found a sheet of parchment in the wooden desk beside the door and jotted a note:

  Madam,

  An elf named Tee-Ri has arrived in Bryanae, claiming to speak on behalf of the Warlord Jabar of the Ildrassi Clan of Kardán. According to her, Jabar demands the following for the safe return of His Royal Highness, Prince Vazerian:

  five million gold pieces;

  five warships; and

  me.

  I have the honor to be, Madam, Your Majesty’s humble‌ and obedient servant

  —Private Willow of the King’s Guard

  She folded the letter, dripped wax upon the fold, and sealed it with her ring. She noted her shaking hands with dismay.

  “Deliver this to the Queen immediately,” she said to the corporal.

  “But I—”

  “I think you’ll f-find that this is more important than any other assignment you may have.” Damn, now she was stammering. She fought her emotions, desperate to retain control. “If you disagree, feel f-free to discuss it with your commanding officer.”

  She moved to the door.

  “Personally, I don’t care,” she said and left.

  Tamlevar called after her but she ignored him.

  * * *

  Willow could tell by the stricken expression on Snyde’s face that he had hoped she wouldn’t show. The metallic water tower caught the sun’s glint from above the tallest treetop. In its shadow, Snyde sat atop a grassy hillock. He stood up, then bent to pick up his sheathed rapier.

  “No second?” he asked.

  “I don’t need one,” she said. The truth was that there wasn’t a single person in Bryanae on whom she could depend. “What about you?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t think you’d show, what with all the …” His voice trailed off.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, and was horrified to hear a quaver in her voice.

  Snyde evidently noted it too, and he looked at her with what Willow might have mistaken for concern if she didn’t know what a self-serving snake he was. He seemed about to say something, but then nodded.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I had hoped you’d forgotten.”

  Willow felt sobs welling up within her, and her belly shook. She bit her lip, and the sudden pain gave her a moment’s respite.

  “So you could brag to all of your friends how you frightened away the great Willow?”

  Snyde shook his head.

  “No, so I could live to see sunset. I’m good with a blade, Willow, but I know I’m a mere child compared to you. I won’t survive this duel, and you know it.”

  The shaking of her belly resumed. Dammit!

  “Y-y-you might get lucky,” she said, fighting to get the words out as inflectionless as possible. “It’s been a v-very bad couple of d-days.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose as though forestalling a headache, but in truth she was covering the tears in her eyes.

  “Willow,” Snyde said, very close now. She looked up to find him reaching to embrace her.

  “No!” she shouted, and retreated a step. “I don’t need your pity.”

  She slapped herself as hard as she could. Then again. And again.

  “Willow, I—”

  She pounded her fist against her chest and then the tops of her thighs. When that didn’t work, she concentrated her efforts on the side of her head. Each strike was a thunderclap and an earthquake, staggering her, but still the anguish was there, pressing, pressing against the vestiges of her control.

  “Willow, what are you doing? Stop it!” There was more fear in Snyde’s voice now than there had been when he was discussing his imminent death.

  Reviled emotions were oozing through the gaps between the bricks, bubbling up through the floor, gasping through the cracks where walls met the ceiling. She increased the fervor of her attacks, felt warm sticky blood running down the side of her face, on her hands.

  “Dammit, Willow! Why are you doing that?”

  Snyde’s arms were on her, around her, entangling her limbs. She tried to throw him off her, but her strength was fading rapidly.

  She bared her teeth, and a gasping moan issued from her throat. She shook her head side to side: no, no, no, no!

  “No!” she wailed, giving voice to her despair at last. Her voice was the squeak of a terrified child.

  The dam burst and Willow collapsed sobbing into Snyde’s arms. The intensity of her agony seemed to overwhelm him, and he stumbled beneath the onslaught of her tears and the sudden weight of her body against his. He lost his balance, and together they fell to the grass, Willow landing in a sobbing, crying mass upon him.

  Hurt poured through her breached discipline like a marauding army. Now within the castle walls, they attacked the secondary structures and the inner walls, setting fire to everything, destroying what had taken years to build.

  Willow’s tears did not abate, but increased in intensity. Her face was separated from Snyde’s by the span of a hand, and her tears dripped on him, ran down his cheeks.

  “Willow, I—”

  Suddenly, with a violence that surprised even Willow, she grabbed his head in both hands and mashed her lips against his. Their teeth clacked together painfully. She held his face against hers until she could no longer hold her breath. She withdrew. Both she and Snyde gasped for air, and then she pressed her lips against him again, and again, and again. She kissed his lips, his face, his ear. They weren’t kisses, they were stabbings, no, they were kisses. She couldn’t tell anymore, only that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop!

  Snyde managed to gasp out her name.

  Willow’s eyes were wide, unseeing things. She looked at him without comprehension.

  “Willow, what’s wrong with you?”

  She heard the words, but didn’t understand them. All she knew was that as long as she was kissing him, the pain receded like a shadow from the light. It remained—oh how it remained!—but this passion kept it at bay.

  She looked Snyde over, and then abruptly tore at his clothes.

  “No!” But his protest was feeble. His face was flushed, and now his hands were running over her body even as she sought to tear the buttons from his shirt.

  What they did then on the grass beneath the water tower was too savage and primal to be called making love, but too intense and passionate to be called anything else.

  Chapter 14

  Willow awakened when the sun crested the water tower and shone down onto her face. She squinted and raised a shaking hand to shield her eyes. She felt like she was floating. Her body was in a profound state of peace, as though she had been an enormous fist that had only now unclenched itself.

  Snyde was still asleep beside her. She studied his face, handsome and at peace. She would have expected the passion and the ferocity from him, but his tenderness had surprised her. She gazed down at his downy chest, and clucked at the red scratches that crisscrossed it. Then she noted the marks on her own body and figured he had given as good as he had gotten.

  Willow inhaled deeply, held the breath, and let it out. The crisis had passed for the moment. This had been but a brief lapse of control; embarrassing yes, but nothing she couldn’t deny later. Snyde would brag, of course. Oh, how he would brag! But without proof, it would seem a feeble lie.

  How much of her defenses remained? That was the key question. How much of the discipline and aloofness would return with her strength, and how much had been irrevocably lost?

  She struggled to her feet and hunted for her clothes. She found her rapier leaning against the thick black wood of the water tower’s support. She searched for a while for the sheath, but gave it up for lost. While the rapier was precious, the sheath was not. It would be simpler to replace it than to locate it.

  Now dressed, she gazed down at the sleeping Snyde. What did she feel about him? Only yesterday, she had hated him. Now, she didn’t know what she felt. What he did next would set the next turn into play. If he boasted of his conquest to his friends,
she would deny everything and then return to finish the duel.

  But what if he didn’t boast? What if he … what if he actually cared for her?

  Could she love him back? Was she capable of loving anybody?

  Tamlevar. The name just popped into her head, and she felt a sickening dread in her belly. The youth was infatuated with her. He would be crushed if he found out about this morning.

  Willow tentatively raised her shield: discipline? The walls seemed solid enough. Mightn’t they have survived more or less intact? Was that too much to hope for?

  * * *

  She was conscious of the stares that greeted her as she walked down the street to her quarters. She must be on every merchant’s tongue, and would probably occupy the seat of honor at every family’s dinner conversation this evening. Fine. Let them talk. When Snyde started boasting of his conquest, then they’d really have something to talk about.

  Willow misstepped, nearly stumbled. She glanced around, hoping nobody had seen; but of course, they had. What was to become of her?

  She shook her head. Enough self-pity. The future would take care of itself. In the meantime, she had things to do. First, she had to change her clothes. Suel’s cowl had served its purpose, but enough was enough.

  Then she had to see the Queen. Willow’s perfunctory note would not satisfy her. She would demand an interrogation; in fact, she likely had the Guard scouring all of Bryanae for her and Tee-Ri. No, come to think of it, they probably had Tee-Ri already in custody. That ostentatious self-adulating bitch would be about as inconspicuous in Bryanae as a duchess in a brothel.

  The thought of Tee-Ri in a dungeon cell was almost enough to make Willow smile.

  Willow’s cottage was small and utilitarian, but it served her well. She was not surprised to find a sealed note pinned to the neutral white front door. Willow yanked the note from the door, tearing it slightly in the process. She opened it:

  Pvt. Willow, you are to report IMMEDIATELY to the Chancellor’s office.

  Willow snorted. Sure, she’d get right on that.

  She needed to bathe and change her clothes. She shrugged off Suel’s cowl as she entered the vestibule. She chose a suitable replacement sheath for her rapier from the weapons rack adjacent to the door. She turned towards her private chambers but spotted an envelope on the floor.