by Serena Chase
“Yes, thank you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very.” He was choosing to ignore my embarrassing outburst and I was grateful. “You?”
“Very.” He sat down. We stared at each other. He was the first to look away. “At Castle Rynwyk,” he said finally, “it is customary that no one partakes until the King has taken his first bite.”
“Oh.” I thought about that for a moment, and then dropped my head into my hands and groaned. “He’s going to hate me.”
Julien’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
Even though it was just one word, it was spoken almost like a threat. Not to me, but to whomever would have the audacity to hate me.
“The King!” I said. “I don’t know anything about being a princess.”
“He won’t hate you.” Julien’s features relaxed. “I’ve always found King Jarryn very easy to please. Now eat.”
“Go ahead. I’m too miserable.” The growl of my stomach argued with my words.
Julien’s lip twitched. “You’ll feel better about it after you eat something.”
All of a sudden, his chosen topic of conversation made sense. “I’m supposed to eat first, aren’t I?”
A slow smile spread across his face. He nodded.
I laughed. “You could’ve just told me, you know.” I picked a cube of cheese, popped it in my mouth, quickly chewed, and swallowed. “There. Satisfied?”
To answer, he tore one of the eggs in half, wrapped it around a cube of cheese, and popped it in his mouth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
With the release of my Andoven abilities, my perception of everything changed. Even confined to the house, the world seemed brighter and more colorful.
Aunt Alaine brought a fresh salve that seemed to speed up the healing in Julien’s arm. And, after a rather uncomfortable confession, I apologized for being the cause of it.
Every day Julien’s health and stamina improved. When I complained of missing my daily rides since Walen and Eneth had left for supplies, Julien endeavored to teach me the series of exercises he’d been doing to alleviate the stiffness in his limbs. This system of controlled movements, devised to keep a knight strong if taken prisoner, was not as easy as he made it look. But it was effective. The exercises not only helped to pass the time, but strengthened my body and provided a bit of much-needed laughter when my long skirts would get in the way and I would lose my balance.
I spent more time with Julien than anyone else. It was an unspoken understanding that, being the Ryn, I was safest in his company. But at least once a day, Aunt Alaine took me aside to try and tutor me in the skills necessary to have at least some control over my newfound Andoven abilities. The most precious of these lessons, at least to me, whose innermost thoughts were now exposed to my aunt and cousin, was learning how to reach for the gray amidst the colors in my mind to hide my thoughts from my Andoven companions.
It wasn’t an easy skill to learn. And there were challenges. For example, the better I got to know Julien, the more I relaxed in his company I became, and when I relaxed, the cognitive swirls of gray I’d so painstakingly reached for—the gray that hid my thoughts from Lily and Aunt Alaine—slipped away. I never realized they were gone until Aunt Alaine would pop into the room. When she sat with us I was more aware not only of myself, but of Julien somehow, of his maleness, as well as his beauty. And those were the hardest thoughts to hide.
Beauty seemed too feminine a term for a knight, but I could find no other within my vocabulary to describe his form, the curl of his hair, the emerald green of his eyes . . . Why the attraction didn’t occur to me as much when we were alone, I could only guess had to do with the comfort of our growing friendship. But I was glad for the many hours of comfort, because when my aunt and cousin were about, it was with the lacking grace of a newborn foal that I could even meet his eyes.
“It really is remarkable,” Julien said one evening. “The resemblance, I mean.”
He’d offered to tend the animals earlier and the fresh air seemed to have invigorated him. After Aunt Alaine and Lily found their beds, we sat by the fire, playing a game of dice.
“Your height, the rich blue of your eyes . . . that alone is so unusual that anyone who’d met Queen Daithia would suspect you a relation. The blue is so deep. Pure as an autumn sky, but with the jeweled tones of a dark sapphire stone.”
His eyes roved over my features. “The set of your cheekbones is a bit stronger than hers, though. And your chin. You inherited that from your father. Your lips are a bit fuller, perhaps . . .” Julien’s voice drifted off, but his eyes lingered on my mouth for a moment. Suddenly, he blinked, cleared his throat, and looked back to the fire. “And your hair, of course, is very like hers. Like flame itself.”
I was glad his gaze was averted, sure that by now my face was glowing brighter than the kindling.
Julien kept his gaze on the fire, and after clearing his throat again, his voice took on a less personal tone. “Perhaps your hair is a shade or two deeper than the Queen’s,” he admitted. “But when the light hits it just right you look very much as I remember her. I can hardly believe no one made the connection all these years.”
“My hair used to be black.”
“Black?” His gaze swiveled back toward me. “How is that possible?”
“Ebonswarth root powder.”
He took a moment to digest that information. “You used it as a dye?”
“Yes. Mixed with water from a sulfur spring.”
“Ah. That would nullify its poisonous properties.” His brow furrowed and the corner of his mouth turned down. “Did you know that possession of that powder is a capital offense?”
“I do now,” I said dryly. “When I first learned of its questionable legality I was not quite sixteen . . . and more than a little concerned about keeping my head, regardless of its color! But my tutor presumed Uncle Drinius had received some sort of special permission, and since Gladiel knew about it, too, I can only assume she was right. At least I hope so. I like my head where it is, thank you.”
“As do I.”
The warmth in his tone made my stomach flip.
“Though, considering who your father is,” he said with a quirk of a smile, “I imagine that dispensation was fairly easy to come by.” He tilted his head, squinted, and then shook his head. “Princess Rynnaia with black hair. I cannot even imagine it.”
“I wasn’t Princess Rynnaia then. I was just Rose.”
“I have a hard time believing you’ve ever been ‘just’ anything.”
Heat moved up the back of my neck. I looked at the floor. “Do you know him well? The King?”
“I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know the King,” he said. “I visited Castle Rynwyk in Salderyn so often as a young boy that I considered it a second home. When my younger brother Gerrias was small and my mother was engaged in caring for him, the Queen took me under her wing.” He smiled. “Queen Daithia was a merry, imaginative soul and she loved children. She would have been a wonderful mother if she’d lived.”
My throat tightened. “At least she got to mother you a bit.”
He nodded. “I believe the Queen had a lot to do with King Jarryn’s decision to take me on as a page at such a tender age.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.”
“Six?” I was shocked. “So young? Kinley and Lewys were never pages. And they didn’t even leave to become squires until they were fourteen!”
“Well, the Veetrish are a bit unusual that way,” he smiled. “Even for a boy from Mynissbyr, six was young. But the Queen was ever my champion. It was thanks to her that I was given the great honor of such close tutelage with the King. He became almost a second father to me.”
A pang of jealousy stung near the region of my heart, but I shoved it away. It wasn’t Julien’s fault that my father had sent me away.
“When the Queen died . . .”
A sharp stab of sadness tinged the bright green I had l
earned to associate with Julien’s thoughts. Regardless of the mixed feelings I had for my father, Julien’s affection for him moved me. My eyes filled as sorrow filtered through his thoughts and into mine. I reached over and placed my hand on his, touched by the affection and grief he felt for my mother.
Julien looked at my hand a long moment before lifting his face. When our eyes met, something strange passed between us. It was a thought of sorts, an unfamiliar knowing that I couldn’t put a name to. My mind filled with starbursts of burnished gold and emerald green. The colors flowed hot and true, dashing the sadness of the moment away and my breath with it. Where our hands touched, our pulses thrummed in a perfect, galloping rhythm.
Suddenly, Julien pushed his chair back and stood. He turned to face the flames, his back to me.
“The healing of my arm is nearing its completion, Princess Rynnaia.” His words carried a breathless sense, yet his tone was formal. “We should be able to depart soon.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and took a deep breath as if to expel the charge in the air between us. The warmth that had coated his thoughts mere moments ago slid away so quickly I shivered. My head swam at the contradiction.
“Wait. Why are we leaving?” It just occurred to me that I’d never asked. “Since you’re here, aren’t we safe now to stay at the Bear’s Rest?”
He blinked. “Why would you think you are safe here?”
“Your father was most assured of it,” I said, remembering that my uncle was not as confident. “Besides, you’re a knight!”
“There was a Cobeld,” he said slowly, “in the Wood. You could have died.”
“You were ill, then. But now you’re better.”
“I am but one knight,” he said, adding, “you are the Ryn.” He paused. “And even if I was able to ensure your safety here, your father has other plans for you. Since my strength has returned we will be able to go to Fyrlean Manor.”
“Fyrlean Manor?” I grabbed at the familiar landmark. “Lady Anya’s home?”
“Lady Anya? Indeed.” He smiled. “It’s as safe a place as we’ll find in E’veria and I’ve no doubt our presence will be welcomed.” He sighed. “It’s been much too long since I’ve seen my mother and sister.”
“You expect your family to be there?”
“It’s our home.”
“Of course.” I shook my head, disgusted with myself. “I have a tendency to forget your father is a Regent,” I said and then grinned. “And a Bear-man.”
Julien laughed. “I can understand why. This Regency isn’t as formal as some.” He stood. “I want to show you something. Wait here.”
Julien retrieved his sword from his chamber and held it so that it caught the light. “See this design on the hilt of my sword? It’s our family crest. It honors the Lady Anya and alludes to the legend of the Bear-men.”
I peered at the blade, its seal so different from that on his scabbard. Beautifully wrought scrollwork wound around a shield, and on the shield, a circle with a diamond shape at its center was topped by the fierce face of a roaring bear.
I laughed. “I called you ‘Bear-knight’ because I didn’t know your name. But that’s exactly what you are.”
“Yes,” he grinned, “I suppose I am.”
We turned our attention back to the game, but it wasn’t long before Julien’s expression grew serious.
“I would like for us to leave tomorrow night.”
I nodded, but reached to rub my temple as a strange, new set of colors flooded my mind.
“What is it?” Julien was immediately at my side.
“I don’t know.” Just then, a woman’s face flashed through my mind. “Eneth?” I stood.
“Your aunt’s housekeeper?”
I nodded. The colors were stronger now, and there was both an urgency and a vagueness to them, but I couldn’t discern the meaning. I closed my eyes, straining to focus on the new colors and to glean some meaning from them. Suddenly I stood. “She’s almost here,” I said. “I think she’s . . . hurt.”
Julien strapped his scabbard around his waist. “Which way?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. But Julien, she’s not . . . Andoven.” I blinked. “How can I . . . ?”
“Bar the door. Let no one in save me.”
And with that, he was gone.
I pulled the wooden bar down, set it in its latch, and paced. After several minutes, I ran upstairs and woke my aunt and cousin, who hurriedly dressed and joined me in the front room.
“Aunt Alaine, is Eneth part Andoven?”
“No.”
Then how could I sense her presence? Was it just my wishful thinking that she and Walen would return that had sent Julien out into the cold, dark night? Or was she really out there?
“Your mother comes from strong Andoven lines, Rynnaia,” Aunt Alaine said when I resumed my pacing.
She must have seen my thoughts. But then again, I hadn’t even tried to pull the gray around them.
“Daithia could both see and speak into the thoughts of those not of Andoven blood almost as easily as she could mine or Jarryn’s.”
“And the King? Can he as well?”
“I don’t think so. His gifts are strong, but I think his communication, like mine, is limited to those of his Andoven ancestry. If you’ve inherited that gift, it would be from Daithia’s side of the family. I’ve been told it is an unusual gift, even among the strong lineages.”
“I can see Julien’s colors,” I mused. “And his thoughts, too, sometimes. But I hadn’t really considered it—”
A step sounded on the porch, drawing Lily to the window. “It’s Sir Julien. He’s carrying . . . Oh dear! It’s Eneth!”
I ran to unbar and open the door. Julien came in, a sodden lump of Eneth in his arms. “She’s injured,” he said. “I think she may be in shock.”
“Her chamber is the door just beyond yours. The one closest to the kitchen.” Aunt Alaine rushed after him.
“I’ll heat some water,” Lily said, rushing to the kitchen. I followed her.
“I’ll light the fire in her room,” I said, grabbing kindling and two sturdy logs from the dwindling pile just inside the door before racing to Eneth’s bedchamber.
“He’s dead, Lady Drinius,” Eneth wailed. “My Walen is dead! Struck down by a cursed clansman!”
I gasped. Walen? The man who had taught me to ride as a child, who had good-naturedly fought me for the right to care for my own horse ever since I’d arrived at the Bear’s Rest, was dead?
Eneth’s injuries were not severe, but now that the urgency to reach us had passed, her grief was incapacitating. Aunt Alaine held her while she sobbed.
Julien turned to me, his voice low. “Where were they?”
“They went to the village of Otley. On the Sengarra border.”
“West, then.” He nodded. “Good. But if there are Dwonsil warriors in the Wood,” he said, “or even near the Sengarra-Mynissbyr border, we must head east to Fyrlean Manor as soon as possible.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Eneth fell into a sleep that lasted well into the next day, but hers was the only stillness in the house.
“We need provisions for one night’s journey,” Julien had instructed us that morning. “It will be a hard ride. We will stop once to allow the horses a brief rest. Eneth will be fit for travel?”
“Fit enough,” Aunt Alaine replied. “Rynnaia’s safety is more pressing.”
“Indeed.”
I wanted to argue, but neither had invited me into their discussion.
“I will ready my horse and three of yours at dusk,” Julien continued. “The princess rides with me. We must travel with all deliberate speed to make it to Fyrlean Manor before dawn. Everyone should wear an extra cloak, if you have one. Our speed will only increase the chill.”
I could stay silent no longer. “Stanza is fast,” I said. “We would travel more efficiently if I was on my own horse.”
Julien cocked his head. “Princess, I
assure you that your presence will be no burden to Salvador. My horse is strong and I can better protect you if you’re close to me.”
“He speaks modestly, Rynnaia.” Aunt Alaine laughed. “The horse is a monster!” She laughed and turned to Julien. “But he has not suffered in our care. I’m afraid my daughter has grown quite fond of your horse. She now refers to him as her overgrown lamb.”
Julien laughed. “It’s a good moniker. Salvador is unswervingly loyal and docile with those he loves. But I daresay Lady Lily would not recognize her ‘lamb’ on the battlefield.”
Eneth awoke just past the midday mark and took a bit of food. She was still a bit shaky and prone to tears, as could be expected, but she was as anxious as any of us, if not more so, to reach the safety of Fyrlean Manor.
The afternoon was spent in a bustle of preparations and Lily shed not a few tears when she went out to say her good-byes to the animals she would be releasing to fend for themselves in the Wood. Aunt Alaine was with Eneth, coaxing her to take a bit of venison broth, leaving Julien and I in the front room alone.
Julien knelt beside his saddlebags, rearranging the contents. The deep brown color of his shirt and trousers brought out streaks of gold and bronze in his slightly curly, golden-blond hair. He didn’t notice my silent appraisal. Not meaning to, but still unaccustomed to the Andoven gifts that were now such a part of me, I picked up my name scuttling across his thoughts. In the tumult of information that had assaulted me since the day I learned my identity, I had nearly forgotten Aunt Alaine’s letter from the King. But it was clearly on Julien’s mind now, and in it, the plans for my future.
“May I see the King’s letter, Julien?”
“Of course.” He rose and handed me the folded parchment. “Lady Drinius mentioned that you might like to read it, but I’d forgotten you hadn’t yet.” He smiled. “Other than your parents, I’ve rarely been in close contact with the Andoven. It’s going to take some getting used to, being around someone who can so easily see the direction of my thoughts.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional. I just don’t always remember to block you out.” I bit my lip. “I’ll try to do better.”
