Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series)

by Jeffrey Getzin

  Looking down at his sleeping form, the man who was loyalty personified, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t mind much if he had. In fact, the more she examined her feelings, the more she realized she might even want him to know about her.

  Dammit, why didn’t she love him? It was obvious that she should. Tamlevar was handsome, intelligent, witty, and caring. He was stronger than anyone she’d ever seen, yet possibly the most gentle man she knew.

  In comparison, Eric Snyde shouldn’t even come close. After all, what had Snyde done except insult her, compete with her, and then, in a moment of her vulnerability, rut with her in the grass like some animal?

  She felt her face grow warm as again, she involuntarily recalled their lovemaking. What was it about Eric that aroused her desire as Tamlevar could not? Why was she even now craving—come on, admit it—craving his touch? What wouldn’t she do for another chance to lie down in the grass by the water tower with him, to draw her fingernails across his back?

  Willow shook her head to snap herself out of it. Stay focused, dammit. This wasn’t the time to engage in adolescent sexual fantasies. She was a soldier; without a country at the moment, true, but a soldier just the same.

  Her eyes surveyed the cell. Though dark in the room, she made out intricate patterns of colors painted on the wall. That the elves had bothered to paint a jail cell didn’t surprise her much. Painting, drama, sculpture, singing: there wasn’t a peaceful art that the elves hadn’t mastered millennia ago. And for the most part, their motives were pure: for love of the art, not competition and one-upmanship.

  Unknown to anyone else, Willow had saved a single work of art from the wreckage that had been her home. It was a simple dowel, about the length of her outstretched hand, and unfinished at that. But even so, it was a wonder to the senses. Instead of merely being a long slender cylinder to serve a utilitarian purpose, the carpenter had taken the trouble to shape it, so that it expanded and tapered along its length, and engraved upon it were delicate lines that formed intricate patterns that delighted the eyes and the fingertips.

  The carpenter had intended the dowel to be part of a larger item, which was to be a gift to a young elven girl. The girl would never learn what that gift was to have been, and the carpenter would never craft anything again.

  That single item, the unfinished dowel, had been clutched in Willow’s arms as she hid shivering in the treetops drenched by the cold rain, frozen to the very marrow of her bones. She remembered clutching it to her and struggling not to weep for fear that they would find her, though the hunting parties had grown less frequent over the last few days.

  And now, now that dowel was hidden beneath a floorboard under her cot in her office in Bryanae, where it had been for nearly a century. And since that day, long ago, when she had placed it there, she had not taken it out once, nor even thought of it.

  She shook her head. Her mind was all over the place. Why couldn’t she focus? Discipline, dammit. Discipline. She had been way too lax on herself since the barbarians had arrived in Bryanae, something she needed to remedy immediately.

  She dropped to the ground and began churning out pushups.

  (1, 2, 3, 4 …)

  She could feel the rust in her muscles, born of neglect and abuse in equal measure. Already, perspiration was beading on her head, and she hadn’t even reached ten yet.

  She increased speed.

  (25, 26, 27 …)

  More, dammit.

  (39, 40, 41 …)

  Her arms were tiring. Way too early.

  Discipline, Willow. Do not relent.

  (79, 80, 81…)

  Now her arms were aching, her breath coming raggedly. The grit of the stone was eating into her palms

  (103, 104, 105 …)

  Her arms shook. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her lower back ached.

  (107 …)

  Her body was suspended a finger’s breadth from the floor. She could not rise.

  (107 …)

  Come on, dammit! Forty-three more to go!

  There was no way she was going to be able to do forty-three more pushups.

  Discipline!

  “Discipline,” she muttered, her lips brushing the stone floor.

  (107 … 108 …)

  “Discipline,” she said louder, the word escaping from her mouth in a single ragged groan.

  (109 ….)

  She dropped and could not force another pushup. She had let herself become weak; this place, these memories, they were making her weak.

  “Why do you do that to yourself?” came Tamlevar’s voice.

  Her heart lurched, but she was unable to roll over, let alone jump to her feet. Her cheek lay against the stone floor. She was powerless to rise.

  “I’m weak,” she said. “I need the exercise.”

  “Weak?” Tamlevar walked over to her. “You just did a hundred and seven pushups!”

  “A hundred and nine,” she said.

  “Discipline?”

  A thrill ran through her at hearing him say it. She rolled onto her back, saw Tamlevar towering over her, his eyes kind.

  “Yes, discipline,” she said. “The foundation of a soldier’s life.”

  Tamlevar’s bare feet were beside her. A whisper of his robes, and he was kneeling beside her, offering her a hand up, a gesture at once compassionate and yet unintentionally insulting. “Do I have discipline?”

  “No,” she said, and then sighed. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  She dragged herself to her feet. Tamlevar regarded her, his face looking tired, his eyes momentarily ancient.

  “How do you feel?” he said.

  The corners of Willow’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “You first.”

  “I feel strong enough”—he thought a moment and then grinned—“to do about a hundred and ten pushups.”

  Willow leaned against the wall, closed her eyes a moment. “Funny.”

  “So how do you feel?”

  “Annoyed.” Willow opened her eyes. “And getting more annoyed with every passing moment.”

  “Please?” Tamlevar’s eyes wouldn’t release her from their grip. The youth was stronger than he seemed, and in more ways than one. “How do you feel?”

  Willow sighed.

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I feel like an actress who’s not only forgotten her lines, she’s forgotten which character she’s playing. I feel myself playing Willow, but I don’t remember how Willow is supposed to act, or what she’s supposed to say.”

  Tamlevar kept regarding her with that intense, infuriatingly compassionate gaze of his. “I think it means you’re getting better.”

  “Getting better?” Willow’s eyes narrowed.

  “Emotionally. I think your emotional wounds are healing.”

  “Tamlevar,” she said through her teeth, enunciating each word with great control. “What have you done?”

  Tamlevar looked hurt. He averted his gaze and cast his eyes about the room for something to alight upon. Outside, a pair of footsteps ran past the entrance.

  “I didn’t do anything to you,” he said, “but I can tell you’re getting better. I saw it when I healed your body.”

  Willow thought a moment. Her eyes tried to make contact with his, but he wouldn’t look up.

  She snorted once, which was close as she normally came to laughter. “Was it necessary that I be naked when you did that?”

  He looked up. An impish smile played upon his lips.

  “Yes, it was,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy it.”

  Willow felt her face grow warm, and now it was her turn to look away.

  “This whole thing with the barbarians,” Tamlevar said. “With you coming home, reuniting with your mother”—Willow’s eyes grew cold at the mention of Tee-Ri—“I think they’re helping you get better.”

  “I don’t want to get better,” Willow said. “I’m fine the way I am. How dare you meddle in my private business!”

  “Really
?” said Tamlevar. “Fine, you say? Willow, when was the last time you were happy?”

  “I feel fine right now.”

  “That’s not what I asked you. When was the last time you felt happy?”

  She couldn’t remember.

  “I feel fine. I don’t need to feel happy.” She spat the word with contempt. “Now, drop it.”

  “You’ve been closed for so long, Willow. Maybe you haven’t felt pain, but you haven’t felt joy, either. If you ask me, that’s not living; that’s just dying very slowly.”

  “I didn’t ask you,” she said.

  “Well, I’m telling you anyway.” Tamlevar’s voice was rising in pitch and volume. “Willow, you may not care, but I meant it when I said I loved you. I really do. And it hurts me more than you’ll know to see you waste away like this.”

  “I’m not,” she said feebly.

  “Yes, Willow. You are.”

  She nodded.

  “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I am.”

  “I want to help you,” Tamlevar said.

  Willow kept nodding, more in contemplation than agreement.

  She sighed, and looked up, her eyes damp. She thought for what seemed an eternity, the room quiet as a tomb.

  “Listen,” she said at last. “Once upon a time, there was a young elven princess named Waeh-Loh.”

  Tamlevar’s eyes met hers nervously, as though afraid to break the spell.

  “Go on,” he whispered.

  “Waeh-Loh lived in a castle with her father Kral-Sus and her mother Tee-Ri, and many servants. Her father …” Willow’s voice became choked with emotion. “Her father loved Waeh-Loh very much. Her mother … didn’t.

  “Her life was pleasant for the most part. She studied, played, and practiced; always with pleasing her father foremost in her mind. Then one day, something horrible happ—”

  There were more running footfalls outside, and then the door to the chamber opened. Pree-Var-Us stuck his head in. He was breathing heavily.

  “Your Highness,” he said, out of breath. “Your mother has returned to Ignis Fatuus. She’s being held captive by human soldiers. All of them are under attack by the Kards!”

  Chapter 35

  “That bitch!” Willow said. “Will she give me no rest?”

  Pree-Var-Us’s eyes goggled. He said, “I’m talking about Tee-Ri. Your mother and Queen of the Elves.”

  “I know damn well who you’re talking about.”

  “Your mother is a prisoner and under attack. You must rescue her.”

  Willow arched an eyebrow. “Must I?”

  “Willow, you really ought—” Tamlevar started, but a withering glance silenced him.

  “Not another word. If the bitch dies, it’s her own fault.”

  “But she’s your mother!” Tamlevar exclaimed.

  “And the Queen!” Pree-Var-Us added.

  “And she can rot for all I care. My top two priorities are to rescue the Prince and warn Bryanae about the size of the Kardic army. If you want to help her so much, why don’t you and your toy soldiers rescue her?”

  “Because we lack the training and experience.”

  “Perfect. This will be an opportunity to acquire both.”

  “There’s no way we’d be able to effect a rescue without your help. We’d just get her killed, and ourselves in the bargain.”

  “Willow,” Tamlevar said. “Be reasonable. You can’t just let your mother die.”

  “Tamlevar, please,” Willow said, a note of genuine sadness in her voice. “Don’t make me kill you.”

  That got him. The lines around his eyes softened, and when he blinked, there was a damp sheen around them. His mouth tightened into a line. He turned to Pree-Var-Us.

  “Was there a human officer among them? Handsome, with shoulder-length black hair and a mustache? Perhaps wearing a monocle—a single lens—in one eye?”

  Willow’s knees buckled as if she had been punched in the gut. She steadied herself against the chamber wall.

  “You bastard,” she hissed.

  “Was there?” Tamlevar said.

  “Yes,” Pree-Var-Us said. “There was.”

  * * *

  Alone again with Tamlevar, Willow glared at him.

  “How do you know about Snyde?”

  Tamlevar’s smile had no humor in it.

  “It wasn’t hard to see. And if I hadn’t known before, I would have found out when I healed you.”

  “And what do you intend to do about it?”

  Tamlevar shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Willow snorted again. “Not quite the lover you were pretending to be, are you?”

  “What do you want from me, Willow? You don’t desire me, and you do desire him. I know he’s no good for you, but there’s no point in telling you that, because you know he’s no good for you, too. But you have no intention of letting that little detail stop you from rutting with him—”

  “How dare—!”

  “So if you’re determined to make this mistake, I might as well help you. If you let Snyde and your mother die, even you would feel the loss.”

  Even you. The words pierced her.

  She opened the door and stepped outside.

  “Come on,” she said, her voice hoarse. “We’ve got to go save the ‘Queen of the Elves.’ And once more, my darling mother gets her way.”

  Chapter 36

  Willow stormed through the tunnels like a rhinoceros, scattering elves as she passed. In her wake, Pree-Var-Us and Tamlevar scurried to keep up.

  She entered the room with the maps and tables. Three elves looked up from their conference, their jaws agape. Willow pointed at them.

  “Which one of you saw the Queen and her party?” she said.

  When no one answered her immediately, she snapped her fingers. “Come on, speak up. Her life depends on immediate action.”

  A hand raised, a skinny elf with ridiculous sideburns.

  “You,” Willow said. “Where are they located?”

  “Well, you see—”

  “Shut up. Show me where.”

  The skinny elf’s eyes flitted to Pree-Var-Us.

  “Don’t look at him!” Willow shouted. “Look at me. If you want me to save your queen, you’ll damn well do what I say.”

  “Willow,” Tamlevar said.

  “Shut up, Private,” Willow said, her eyes embers. “Help …” she gestured to the skinny elf.

  “D-Don-Lan,” the elf stuttered.

  “Tamlevar, help Duh-Don-Lan here find a map of the area. Move it!”

  Tamlevar flashed a hurt look at Willow, but she ignored it.

  “Pree-Var-Us, collect as many capable men as you’ve got, arm them, and assemble in that hallway in ten minutes.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Pree-Var-Us dashed out of the room.

  “Don’t mind her,” Tamlevar stage-whispered to Don-Lan who was shaking like a flag in the breeze. “She’s always like this.”

  “Private, do you want to save the Queen and the Bryanaen soldiers, or would you rather make wisecracks?”

  Tamlevar snapped to full attention. “Both, SIR!”

  She squinted at him a moment. She remembered the “deal” he had cut for her: that she would be Sil-Then’s consort in return for a place to recover. Just thinking of it made her furious.

  “Get out,” she said.

  “What?” said Tamlevar, his expression incredulous.

  “I said get out. Wait in the hallway with the other soldiers.”

  Tamlevar crossed his arms, looking wounded.

  “You,” Willow said, gesturing to the elf standing beside Don-Lan. “Show Tamlevar where we’re gathering in the hallway.”

  The hapless elf eyed Tamlevar, who was easily a third larger than he, then glanced back at Willow.

  “Please?” he said to Tamlevar.

  Tamlevar shook his head in disgust. Without another word, he stomped out of the room with his escort following on his heels.

  Willow joined Don-Lan b
ehind a table filled with maps. Most were sea-charts, which she tossed haphazardly off the table in all directions while the elves looked on in horror. “No … no … no …”

  Don-Lan watched for a moment in dismay and then cleared his throat. “Um, could you be … um …. careful with those? They represent decades of work.”

  “Every second is critical,” she said, only half paying attention to him.

  Her eyes lit upon a map displaying the entire island.

  “Ah,” she said and spread the map out across the table. “Show me where the Queen and the soldiers were when you saw them.”

  Don-Lan scanned the page, and then pointed with his finger at a U-shaped formation of rock on the map. “Here.”

  “A canyon. Where are the soldiers and the Queen?”

  Don-Lan’s shaking finger indicated the inside of the u, near the base.

  Willow sighed. Of course. “And I take it the Kards have blocked the opening, and are firing down from the sides?”

  “Yes,” Don-Lan said, “with sp-spears.”

  “Imbeciles!” Willow said.

  Don-Lan opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him. “Not you. The soldiers: they couldn’t have chosen a worse place to be attacked. They’re surrounded and cut off from escape. How many Kard soldiers did you see?”

  Don-Lan shook his head. “It was dark. At least fifty or so.”

  Fifty!

  “And how many Kard leaders did you see?”

  “F-f-four. Probably more.”

  “Four?” she mused. “Why so many?”

  Don-Lan shook his head, struggling for words.

  “Never mind. The question was rhetorical.” She indicated the map. “Put this in some kind of case. You’re coming with us.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “You have only two tasks on this mission: stay alive and be able to locate us on this map at any time. Do you understand your duties, soldier?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Good,” said Willow with a slap on his shoulder. “Very good. Find the case and be at the assembly point in five minutes.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Don-Lan sprinted from the room.

  Willow ordered the remaining elves into the hall to wait for Pree-Var-Us and his men. Already she could hear the nervous mumblings of inexperienced troops there.