The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  Rose bit her lip. “How long can one sustain a fever like that?”

  Lily shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve prepared a medicinal tea for him, if you’d like to try to administer it.”

  “It hasn’t seemed to make a difference yet, but we might as well.”

  Rose had little luck getting the knight to take the tea. Most of it ran through his beard. She used a damp cloth to wash his brow and sat at his side, willing him to awaken, entertaining herself with more of Rowlen’s stories. Hours later, she brewed a fresh pot and began the process again.

  This time, however, as she was attempting to drip the tea into the knight’s mouth, his eyes blinked several times and then opened. Without warning, he grabbed at Rose’s wrist, spilling the remaining tea on to her skirt.

  “Please. No more. I need . . . wake up,” he groaned. “Please. I don’t want . . . to be . . . ugh.” The fight left him with a shiver.

  Rose felt his forehead. Where before it had been hot and dry, it was now cool and sweaty. Finally, his fever had broken. Setting the cup aside, Rose allowed herself to smile for the first time since she had entered the room.

  When he awakened, he would need food. Something simple. A broth, perhaps, as she and Alaine had discussed. She went to the kitchen, but found that whatever Alaine had prepared in her experimentation had either been consumed or thrown out.

  Rose unwrapped a portion of dried venison and put it in a pot. She reached for the pitcher of water, but there wasn’t even enough left to brew one pot of tea. Rose groaned. It would be so easy to run to the stream and fill the pitcher. But she wasn’t allowed outdoors.

  With a huff, she set down the pitcher. She would have to send someone else.

  Alaine was sound asleep upstairs, but Lily was nowhere to be found. Rose went to the window and scowled out toward the barn. Could she be tending the animals? Or had she taken a different pitcher the stream? If so, what was taking so long? Frustrated, Rose returned to the Bear-knight’s side.

  Several times over the next few hours, Rose went in search of Lily, to no avail. She knew the chores could take awhile, but this seemed excessive. Alaine still slept, even snoring the daintiest little bit, which made Rose worry that her aunt might be coming down with something. She didn’t want to wake her, even when Lily’s absence became so glaring that Rose worried for her cousin’s safety.

  Rose paced at the Bear-knight’s side. If Lily was in danger, what could Alaine do? Nothing. She may be improving in the kitchen, but Alaine was hardly able to thwart a villain by boiling an egg. And Lily was nearly as helpless. Neither could mark the dagger. Neither had been brought up with brothers bent on teaching them to defend themselves.

  But Rose had.

  Rose looked at the Bear-knight. His color had returned, but without the flush of fever. Now he simply seemed to sleep. She knelt by his side and took his hand.

  “I must go check on my cousin,” she said. His eyes fluttered. “If you can hear me, if you understand me, can you tell me somehow?”

  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His brow contracted as if he was trying to open his eyes, but couldn’t.

  Rose decided to believe he was responding to her voice. “My aunt is asleep upstairs and my cousin has been outside too long. I’m worried about her. I think she might have gone down to the stream.”

  When she said that, a dozen possible reasons for Lily’s delay careened through her imagination—and none of them good. Had Lily slipped and fallen into the icy water? Had she tried to cross the stream and been caught by a current? Had she tripped over a root and even now was sitting in the cold snow, unable to walk back to the house? Had she met up with an enemy? Or had she simply become distracted by the Bear-knight’s giant, gentle horse?

  “Use . . . care, my . . . lady.”

  Rose gasped when the Bear-knight spoke. “You’re awake?”

  His eyes fluttered, then opened completely, capturing Rose in their brilliant, but watery green depths. He blinked as if his vision was blurred. “I’m not . . . sure. Where am I?”

  “This is an old hunting lodge. It’s called the Bear’s Rest.”

  “I’m in the Great Wood?”

  Rose smiled. “It’s not as bad as the stories make it out to be.”

  “This I know.” He smiled and closed his eyes again. “Still, there may be enemies about. Use caution, Lady . . . ?” He left the phrase dangling, as if hoping she would fill it.

  “I’m Rose,” she said.

  “Lady Rose. I’m . . . Julien.” The word came out as if forced. He winced and reached toward his arm. The arm Rose’s dagger had torn.

  “You’re in pain. I’m sorry.” Rose bit her lip. “You are a knight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He opened his eyes.

  Rose’s own eyes slid shut and she sent another word of thanks to Rynloeft that he had survived her dagger. “Please forgive me, Sir Julien, but I really must see to my cousin.”

  “Wait. I’ll go—”

  But before she could give it a second thought, Rose rushed from the room, grabbed her cloak from the peg by the back door, and put it on. She would check the stream first. If Lily had come to harm near or in the water, every second mattered. And since she was going that way, she might as well refill their water. Pitcher in hand, she slipped out the door.

  Rose inhaled the fresh air and realized at once just how stale the air inside had become. The coolness of the breeze invigorated her spirit, renewing her energy. With each step closer to the stream, her hope that Lily was all right became surer.

  Rose made a wide path up the stream and back, narrowing her search closer and closer to the water with each pass, but there was no sign of Lily but a few dainty footprints in the snow, going both to and from the stream. Frustrated but hopeful, she took off her mittens and knelt next to the water, cupping her hands to drink. Lily must have gotten distracted in the barn. Perhaps the cat had finally had those kittens Lily had been so anxious to see. That would explain her absence better than any sort of accident or act of an enemy.

  Besides, Rose reminded herself, Alaine and Lily were part Andoven, and as mother and daughter, closely connected. If Lily had come to harm, surely Aunt Alaine would have known, even in sleep.

  With that realization, Rose relaxed. Lily was fine. She had to be.

  The water was so cold that it made her hands ache, but the fresh taste more than made up for it. A beam of sunlight broke through the trees and warmth seeped through the hood of her cloak. Rose lowered her hood and lifted her face to the sun’s caress. Closing her eyes, she basked in its warmth.

  After a moment, she sighed and set about her task, dipping fresh water from the stream to fill the pitcher. Rose had just finished that job when a low, muffled cry sounded on the other side of the stream.

  Rose closed her right hand around the hilt of her dagger and swung toward the sound. A slight movement beside a fallen log caught her eye. As she cautiously moved forward, Rose let out a sigh of relief. It was just an old man.

  He was a hermit, most likely out hunting, one of the few brave souls who called the Great Wood their home. Harmless.

  “Hello?”

  Intent on some task involving a large fallen tree, the old man made no response to indicate that he had heard her. He did appear to be quite old. Perhaps he was deaf.

  “Sir?” she said a bit louder. “Pardon me, sir,” she nearly shouted. “Do you need help?”

  The old man turned his head and . . . screamed.

  Rose jumped and emitted a small yelp of her own.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “Can I be of some help?”

  “You are from . . . Veetri?”

  “Yes.”

  The old hermit’s accent was as strange to Rose as hers must have sounded to him in the middle of the Great Wood of Mynissbyr, but she was not well-traveled and her own speech was a perfect example of how many dialects prospered in the Kingdom of E’veria.

  “Are you far from home a
s well?” she asked.

  “Not so far as I don’t know my way back.”

  “Oh.”

  A hermit, then, she decided. And an ill-mannered one at that, she thought when he added, “And for someone who offers help you’re rather slow at providing it. At this rate I’ll die in my old age before I see my home again.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Can’t you see, stupid girl? My beard is stuck in this log!”

  Rose ground her teeth to keep from replying with a matching insult. After all, a hermit had no need to develop great social skills. But she had been raised to be mannerly, and she had no excuse to be unkind.

  “I’ll find a place to cross and have a look.”

  Rose replaced the dagger in her pocket and pulled her mittens back on as she moved upstream. A slight drop in the stream left a few rocks protruding, and if she was careful, she could cross without getting her boots wet.

  But for a near-slip on one of the rocks, Rose made it swiftly across the stream. She hurried over to the old man to examine his predicament.

  The tip of his beard had been caught in a jagged crevice in the bark of a fallen log. By the look of things, he had been struggling to free himself for quite some time.

  “Oh, you poor dear. Have you been here a while?”

  “Long enough,” he grumbled.

  She pulled her dagger back out. “I’ll have you free in a trice.” she said. “Now hold still, if you will. I’ll just trim that end piece off and you can be on your way.”

  “No you will not! I’ve spent my lifetime growing this beard!”

  “It is just the tip,” she said. “One swift pass of my knife and you’ll be on your way.”

  “Do not cut my beard!”

  The old man’s vehemently hissed words made the hairs on Rose’s neck tingle. She took a small step back. When she spoke again, she chose her words carefully.

  “Are you one of the hermits of the Great Wood, sir? Or is your home further away?”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “What does it matter? I’ll likely die attached to this log for all the help you’re giving.”

  “It matters,” Rose said, “because there are rumors of Cobelds in the Wood. And you, sir, have a rather unnatural attachment to that scraggly old beard of yours.”

  “Do I look like one of those Cobeld goblins?” Even with the growly accent his tone was layered with offense

  A picture from Rowlen’s tale of Lady Anya sprung to mind. “Well, no, but—”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders? To call someone a Cobeld is the greatest insult one E’verian can give another!”

  A flush heated her cheeks. “My apologies, sir,” she said. “But these are dangerous times. I meant no offense.” She knelt by the log. “Please, let me cut just this little bit off your beard and we can part as friends.”

  “NO!”

  Rose flinched, but her patience had met its end. “I daresay it will grow back,” she snapped. “Now be still and I will cut it quickly so we can be done with it!”

  He made a strangled sound and screamed at her. “Step away!”

  “I have obligations I must return to,” she said in a clipped voice. She’d already been gone longer than intended and had yet to locate Lily. She needed to get to the barn and make sure her cousin was safe before heading back to the Bear-knight—Sir Julien, rather—before Aunt Alaine awoke and panicked to find her gone.

  “My honor will not allow me to leave you here to freeze or starve to death simply because you caught your ridiculous beard in a log! If you don’t want me to cut it, what exactly do you suggest I do to help?”

  She rose and walked around the log, stepping directly in his line of sight, making eye contact for the first time. “Well?”

  “You could pull it out.” His voice trembled, but something in the way his black eyes contracted as they connected with hers sent a shiver down her spine.

  Ridiculous. Rose shook off the feeling. He’s just a poor old hermit. He’s just scared. Like everyone else in E’veria.

  “I mean you no harm.” She gave him a kind smile. “I would help if you’ll let me.”

  “I’m an old man, and as you said, these are dangerous times.” He gave a little cough. “Pardon me. Dry throat.” He reached for the flask strapped at his waist. “I’ve been stuck here for some time and have worked up quite a thirst.”

  He uncorked the top and looked inside. “Ah. Just enough.”

  “I could refill it for you at the stream if you—”

  “No!” He coughed. “Ah, thank you, but no. You’re young and strong. Now why don’t you try to pull on my beard and see if it comes loose.”

  The old man took a sip from his flask and whispered something under his breath.

  “Pardon?” Rose paused.

  He shook his head and gestured for her to continue.

  Rose grabbed hold of his beard and tugged, but her mitten slipped and she lost her balance. She fell hard into the snow.

  “That won’t do, silly girl.” His scathing tone returned. “You must use your bare hands to get a proper grip!”

  Rose brushed the snow off of her backside. The return of his nasty temperament irritated her, but she conceded that he was right. Her hands were still a little numb from the cold water and she hated to take her woolen mittens off again, but if it would free the surly old hermit and get her back inside before Aunt Alaine found out she was gone, she supposed she could stand the cold.

  Rose pulled off her mitten and tossed it on the ground.

  The old man smiled. “There, now. That will do nicely.”

  Rose reached for his beard.

  The blurred flight of a dagger just missed Rose’s bare hand. A sound like that of a cat’s claws sliding down a metal shield rent the air as the weapon cut through the old man’s beard and impaled his throat.

  Rose gasped and jumped back as the old man collapsed, dead upon the log. She spun around, pulling her own dagger from her pocket.

  “Show yourself!” Rose stood, her hand poised to throw her dagger into the unknown assailant’s heart. “What sort of villain are you, to kill a helpless old man?”

  The first thing she saw was the bear’s mouth, open as if in mid-roar. But just as her gaze lowered to the familiar human face directly beneath it, the Bear-knight collapsed, revealing Lily behind him, her face as white as the snow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The dagger slid from Rose’s fingers. “Lily?”

  “How could you be so foolish?” Lily hissed as she knelt beside Sir Julien. “You could have been killed!”

  “Me?” Rose blinked. “Me?! Lily, what’s wrong with you? Sir Julien just murdered an innocent old man!” Rose’s hand tingled in the cold bite of the winter air. She reached for her mitten.

  “Stop!” Lily shouted. “Don’t move. I’m coming over there.”

  Rose put her hands up and took a step back. “But my hands are freezing!”

  “Please, Lady Rose,” Sir Julien called, his voice gruff from disuse. “Listen to her.”

  The shock of the moment combined with Rose’s frustration and her worry for her cousin’s welfare. Hot, angry tears pooled in her eyes as she watched Lily navigate the same rocks she had moments ago.

  “Rose.” Lily approached her slowly, her glance straying to the old man. “Did your mitten touch his beard?”

  “Well, yes. But his beard was stuck in the log, Lily! He wouldn’t let me cut it and my mittens were slippery so I took them off and then he—” She hiccupped and then pointed at Sir Julien. “He killed the poor man!”

  “Rose.” Lily placed her hand gently on her cousin’s shoulder. “That isn’t some hermit of the Wood. And he certainly isn’t some innocent old man. That is a Cobeld. And if Sir Julien hadn’t been able to rouse when he did,” a shudder moved through her delicate frame, “that Cobeld would have killed you!”

  Rose glanced at the old man and then looked away from the gruesome sight. “He
’s a . . . Cobeld? But aren’t they all wrinkly and green and—”

  “No. That’s the Storyteller’s version.” Lily shook her head. “I can’t believe my father and Sir Gladiel never told you what to look for.”

  Rose sank down into the snow, not even feeling the cold as it seeped through her cloak.

  “There could be hairs from his beard on your mitten, Rose,” Lily said softly. “If you touch one of them you could die.”

  “What should we do with it?”

  A shadow fell between them. Rose looked up to see her aunt’s tear-streaked face.

  “You aren’t going to do anything but help Sir Julien back into the house.” Alaine’s voice shook with a combination of relief and anger. “When I awoke and found the house empty—” Her voice broke off in a little sob. She closed her eyes and took a breath.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find Lily and I was worried about her.”

  “You should have awakened me!”

  Rose could have argued her reasons for letting her aunt sleep, but instead she looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  Alaine took a deep breath. “Girls, you may return to the house. I will burn the mitten and join you shortly.”

  “But what if there are more of them?”

  “We will pray there are not.”

  Rose shivered. “I’ll help you. You shouldn’t be alone out here.”

  “And you shouldn’t be out here at all.”

  “Come on, Rose,” Lily urged. “Sir Julien is weak. I need your help to get him inside.”

  “Return to the house and care for the knight,” Alaine ordered. “He may be our only hope to get out of Mynissbyr alive.” Her proclamation sent a chill through Rose’s blood that was warmed by shame when she added, “And Rose? Do not leave the house again!”

  Rose wiped her face and made her way back across the stream, Lily close behind. Sir Julien had lifted himself into a sitting position and sat propped against a tree, his eyes closed.

  “Sir Julien?” Rose whispered.

  Slowly, as if it took some effort, he opened his eyes. As they lit on her hair and then searched her face, they widened and then narrowed as if confused. “Your name is . . . Rose?”