by Serena Chase
I nodded. “The others are at the fire.”
“Walk with me.”
I fell into step beside him.
“I’ve thought about what you said yesterday,” he said. His voice was low enough that I had to strain to hear it. “And I want you to know that, although I will defend my King as is my sworn duty, I think I can understand why you feel as you do. I apologize if anything I said added to your pain.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry, too.” I hated being the last to apologize. “It was wrong of me to attack you in place of him. You didn’t do anything.” I stopped. “I suppose I’m exhausted with living a ruse. Even now I’m forced to disguise myself from Rylin and Alek.”
He stopped and scanned a full circle around us before turning to face me. “You may not want to hear this, but King Jarryn is a good man. An honorable man. What other sort of man would, when evil tore his Queen from him, choose to deny himself the joy of watching his daughter grow up in order to keep her safe?”
My throat tightened. I’d never thought about it from the King’s point of view. My father had always been an abstract concept to me, a cold presence, dictating my life from afar. My mind swam through every emotion, through all the years without so much as a note letting me know he cared.
The memory I had recovered reading my father’s letter to Aunt Alaine, however, indicated something else, something other than what I’d believed of him all these years. And, after all, Julien knew him far better than I did. If he believed the King’s motivation was pure, it likely was.
That didn’t mean I had to like it.
But none of this was Julien’s fault.
“Forgive me,” I said finally. “My behavior toward you was undeserved and unkind.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
“Nothing but a full day of throwing daggers at you with my eyes,” I mumbled.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “It was a long day,” he admitted. “And of course you are forgiven.”
By the time Alek took the second watch, Julien and I had fallen back into a comfortable companionship. When I crawled into my bedroll I fell into a dead sleep, barely even aware of the cold until I awoke stiff and aching with the rise of the sun.
By the second week of our journey, my body began to toughen up. As I grew stronger, new muscles developed in my legs and I gained more stamina and slept better, my aches and pains minimized by routine.
The knights’ cautiousness increased as the days wore on, and a strange, prickling fear crept through my mind at unexpected moments. Colors I didn’t recognize would creep into my mind without warning, causing me to tense in a way that irritated my horse. Salvador, I noticed, seemed agitated as well.
When we stopped for our noon meal one day, I couldn’t shake the sense of trepidation that had plagued me off and on all morning. With a little maneuvering, I managed to find Julien alone before we took to the saddle again.
“Sir Julien,” I whispered formally just in case someone would overhear, “something doesn’t feel right.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “I know. Salvador knows. Stay close to me and be on your guard at all times.”
We ate quickly and quietly. The knights absently checked their swords, almost as if they knew they would soon be called upon to use them. Fueled by an increased urgency to reach the well-guarded towns and villages along Dynwey Road, Julien set a rigid pace for most of the afternoon.
We had been back on the road for about two hours when, suddenly, my skin prickled from head to toe, as if an ice-blue blast of wind had permeated my many layers of clothing. Movement at the periphery of my vision turned my head.
In the distance, no less than fifteen—no, at least twenty horses galloped toward us. Though I had never before seen this type of cavalry, somehow I knew who they were.
“Dwonsil warriors!” Rylin’s shout confirmed my suspicion. The swords of my fellow riders left their scabbards. “Do we fight, Sir Julien?” Rylin called from the rear.
“No!” Julien hollered back. “We’re grossly outnumbered! We ride!”
I looked toward the approaching riders. Their trajectory had shifted and there seemed no doubt that they would intercept us. I frantically scanned every direction, trying to figure out the best way of escape, but there was none, not even a patch of trees in which to hide. I glanced back toward the approaching enemy. Their bows were drawn and aimed at us. They were in range. We couldn’t possibly escape.
Almost as one, they drew their bows back and . . .
“No!” I gasped. Leaning into Stanza’s neck, I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting an arrow to pierce through my cloak at any second. When no pain arose I ventured to open my eyes and check the condition of my friends.
No one was hurt. In fact, when I turned to look at the Dwonsil warriors I saw nothing but a cloud of dust and a flurry of flailing hooves. Arrows careened in every direction but toward us.
My mouth dropped open. I could not imagine what might have caused disaster to befall the warriors, thereby allowing us to escape. There must have been some hazard or trap set, unbeknownst to the enemy. What else could explain twenty-plus horses and riders suddenly collapsing on the Stoenian plains?
“Don’t slow down!” Julien yelled at me. “Keep moving!”
I dug my heels into Stanza’s sides. Whatever had happened to the Dwonsil warriors, I only hoped a similar accident did not await us further down the trail.
My heart pounded so frantically I feared it would be heard over the sound of the horses’ hooves. We rode as hard as we could until sundown, but there was no sign of pursuit. When we finally felt safe enough to set up camp, Sir Alek’s comment expressed my own thoughts.
“If someone told me that story,” he said with a shake of his head, “I don’t think I would believe it.”
“Indeed.” Julien added. “The First King himself must have been between us and our enemies today.”
Everyone else nodded agreement, but it seemed an odd remark to me. All my life I had heard the stories of Loeftryn de Rynloeft, E’veria’s First King. But that was ancient history. The thought of a dead king interceding in our modern time was one I chewed on with almost as much effort as I needed to send my teeth through the flavorless biscuit that accompanied my meager dinner. Finally, I let it go, deciding that perhaps Julien’s comment was one born of knight lore that had never made it to Veetri.
Everyone else seemed as pensive as I, and without the usual conversation around the fire, my eyelids drooped much earlier than usual. As soon as I finished my chores I spread my bedroll. As the excitement of the day worked its way out of my blood, exhaustion claimed my brain, and with one last look toward Julien, I sighed and let sleep claim me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sixteen days after leaving Fyrlean Manor, we finally reached Dynwey Road. Julien sent Alek and Rylin ahead to make sure the nearby village was still secure, and if so, to arrange rooms for us at the inn.
Julien spoke quietly enough that no one would hear. “As my squire, it is expected that you will share my room, but Erielle will have a room adjoining mine. When we retire you will join her and no one will be the wiser.”
At the inn, Julien ordered baths for all of us. Once the innkeeper realized his guest was a future Regent, he was more than happy to oblige.
Every speck of dirt and every drop of dried sweat on my body itched as if it was a living thing. On the trail I’d felt dirty. Off, I knew I was disgusting. I’d never gone this long without bathing and I could hardly wait for my turn. As the highest ranking member of our party—as far as the innkeepers knew, anyway—Julien got the first bath. He might have hurried, but as I sat in my own filth, it felt like forever.
Finally, Julien appeared, dressed in freshly pressed clothes—the innkeeper had insisted—and shortly thereafter the knights were shown to the small but steamy tubs that awaited them in their rooms. Once they’d departed, Julien took Erielle and me upstairs and stood guard outside the door while we bathed.
/> The tub was the tiniest I’d ever bent my body into, but the wonder of washing the grime and stench from my body was worth the awkward contortions I had to make to get myself clean. I couldn’t help but notice that the body in this tub was much changed from that of the girl who had left Fyrlean Manor just over two weeks ago. I had never carried extra weight, but the strenuous trail had created a new leanness to my frame and had sculpted muscles that had, before this time, been hidden among my bones. I was glad for the small sewing kit stowed among my things. I needed to make a few alterations to my clothes before morning.
As I helped Erielle comb a particularly difficult knot out of her fine, wet hair, Julien came in.
“Erielle, I brought your—” He paused in the doorway between the two rooms, a food-laden tray in his hands. As his eyes traveled the length of my hair, a warm current tingled up my spine, almost as if his hand had touched it instead.
“Rynnaia.” His whisper was so soft, I wasn’t sure if he had spoken my name or thought it. But regardless of whence it came, it moved over my ears like liquid silk. The caress of his gaze turned apologetic. “I wish I could bring you a tray, but the knights would wonder.”
“It can’t be helped.” I returned my attention to Erielle’s hair, but something about his discomfort at seeing me as a woman again pleased me.
Julien cleared his throat. “I’ve accustomed myself to seeing you as a squire, but seeing you now, I can’t imagine how you ever passed for a boy. I wonder what your father would say if he knew about all this.”
“I know what he would say,” Erielle spoke through the golden veil of hair covering her face. “He would say, Julien, my boy,” she lowered her voice, “what a brilliant disguise! I’d wager your highly intelligent sister had a part in its design!”
“And so she did,” I laughed.
My hairpiece was almost dry by the time I finished combing out Erielle’s mass of tangles. I braided and coiled my still-damp hair, pinned the black hairpiece in place, and topped it all with the squire’s cap.
“I’m ready. Are you sure you want to stay up here, Erielle?”
“More than sure. My head needs to breathe.” She grimaced. “Sorry. That was a rather thoughtless thing to say since you have to go below.”
“Shall we?” Julien held out his arm and I laughed. “I very much appreciate your chivalry, Sir Julien, but as your squire I cannot accept such an invitation.”
Julien let his arm drop and scowled. “It goes against everything within me to treat you this way.”
“You can make it up to me when I’m a girl again,” I said with a grin. “But for now I must admit that I am hungry. After you, my liege.” His brows drew together, but he preceded me out the door.
The dining room was crowded, but Alek and Rylin had already claimed a table for the four of us. No sooner had we sat down than we were served. Julien’s status afforded us a most attentive staff, and we feasted on a hearty beef and vegetable stew, warm, buttered rolls, and baked apple tarts.
“I’ve heard there’s a Storyteller here tonight,” Rylin commented as we finished our meal.
I had to contain the squeal of delight that threatened to burst out of my throat at the prospect of seeing a real Veetrish Storyteller again.
“I was planning to make an early night of it,” he said, “but it’s been a long while since I’ve seen the Story People dance. Anyone care to join me?”
“Aye,” agreed Alek, nodding. “I’ve a mind to stay up for it. What say you, Rozen?”
“You have to ask?”
Julien grinned behind his mug. “Mayhap we could make an exception to our schedule and leave a little later in the morning than we planned. I’ll go upstairs and get Erielle . . . Erril, I mean,” he laughed. “I’m sure the little scamp would enjoy the evening’s entertainment as well.”
Julien appeared a short while later with Erril in tow. When the supper dishes were cleared away everyone pitched in to push back the tables and make a space in the center of the room. The space was almost clear when a large man bumped into me from the side. I lost my balance and fell hard on to the floor.
The impact knocked the spectacles from my face. They skidded across the room out of sight. Worried about the rest of my disguise, I reached up to feel my head. My hairpiece and cap had held fast . . . but where were my spectacles? Keeping my eyes as downcast as possible, I pushed myself into a kneeling position and scanned the floor for my missing eyewear.
There they were! I cringed, but a hand reached down to pick them up just in time to avoid them being trod upon by a large man’s boot. I let out a sigh of relief and moved my gaze upward to identify who held my spectacles in case I should lose him in the crowd.
I couldn’t stop his name from forming on my lips, even though there was no sound coming forth from my mouth. “Rowlen?”
My brother had filled out considerably in the three years since last I had seen him. His tall form was lean and strong and his long, gleaming blond hair was pulled back and tied in a queue at the nape of his neck. At the gathering celebrating my sixteenth birthday, there were still bits of the boy I’d grown up with lingering about my Storyteller brother, but there was no denying now that he was a man.
Rowlen held the spectacles for a moment and looked around the room for a possible owner. As he met my gaze, his eyes widened in surprise, then delight.
He’s here! My smile surely matched his own as my heart leapt with joy. My brother is here!
“Oy, Rozen!” Rylin’s voice stole my attention from the Storyteller. “That was a nasty fall you took.”
I took his offered hand to rise. “Thank you.” I avoided the knight’s gaze as I pushed myself up. “My spectacles . . .”
“Sir Julien is retrieving them. Can you see without them?”
“Enough.” I looked back toward Rowlen, who was in the process of handing the spectacles over to Julien. When he looked back at me, confusion reigned on his face.
I bit my lip. Oh, Rowlen!
I wanted to cry. I wanted to run to him. But I couldn’t. I was Rozen de Morphys now and he . . . wouldn’t understand.
A spark of light stole my gaze from his face. A smattering of applause began near him, and as the rest of the room caught on to who he was, they joined in. Rowlen looked down at his hand. He almost seemed surprised to see the bright, translucent plant growing from his palm. He pursed his lips and blew the smallest stream of air toward it. A bud formed and opened, revealing a copper-colored rose.
No! My thought was violent, immediate. You promised! The rose shattered into hundreds of tiny, glittering pieces that fell to the floor and disappeared into the dust motes.
A look of utter surprise flew across the Storyteller’s face as he looked at his palm. He turned his hand over, as if searching for the rose. The crowd clapped again, and with a troubled glance in my direction, he smiled and offered them a bow.
Homesickness crushed my chest, battling with the fear that he would call me out and ruin Julien’s carefully laid plans.
“I need some air. I’m going to check on Stanza.” I pushed passed Rylin, keeping my eyes downcast as I made my way outside.
I ran all the way to the stables and climbed into Stanza’s stall. My heart beat a furious pace as I leaned my head into my horse’s neck. The next stall over, Salvador whinnied, seeming to sense my unease. I knew I couldn’t hide there forever, but I couldn’t go back in and risk being found out.
Seeing Rowlen opened a wound that seemed to be incapable of healing and ignited a heavy, wrenching homesickness for Veetri. For Mirthan Hall. For my family. I’d denied it as well as I could while at the Bear’s Rest. But I could deny it no longer. Just across the way, a most-beloved brother, one of the dear ones I had not seen in years, was entertaining a crowd. That I could not even acknowledge I knew him tore at my heart, and I’d never felt more alone.
I sank down into the straw and pounded my fist into its scratchy depths. Stifling a sob, I sat back against the wooden wall, drew my kne
es up, and buried my head in my arms.
A torrent of emotion shook my frame, though I made no sound other than taking an occasional, gasping breath.
I just want to see my brother! my heart cried. Shaking, I ground my fists into the straw over and over, not even noticing when the dry skin on my knuckles began to crack and bleed.
“Rozen?” The call was soft, but urgent. “Oh, there you are.” I looked up as Julien arrived at Stanza’s stall. When he saw my tears his eyes widened. A moment later, he was in the stall with me, the gate latched behind him.
“Where’s your cloak?”
I tried to answer, but bit my tongue. I could not stop shaking. My body trembled from crown to toe. Julien removed his tunic and placed it around my shoulders. My teeth began to chatter as hot tears coursed down my cold cheeks.
“Are you hurt?” he whispered, even though there was no one else in the stables. “Were you injured when you fell?” His eyes roved over my form as if he expected to see a blackened eye or a series of gaping wounds. I shook my head no, still unable to speak while my body convulsed so.
He knelt beside me and lifted my hands, concern furrowing his brow as he examined bleeding knuckles that had just started to sting. After another look at my tear-streaked face, he pulled me to him, crushing me against his chest. His heart thundered against my cheek.
“I couldn’t find you.” His whisper was ragged. Had I been unable to make out the quiet syllables, however, his thoughts would have been strong enough to pierce the night. “You fell and then you just . . . disappeared.”
Julien loosened his hold and I was able to breathe easier. “Finally, Rylin told me that you had left to check the horses,” he said. “Why would you do that? You know what a risk it is for you to be running about on your own!”
His tone was rough, but I felt the worry that fed his chastisement. His body, pressed so close to mine, imparted warmth and comfort. He held me until I was able to speak.
“Rowlen recognized me,” I whispered, choking back a sob. “I was in the same room as—as my br-brother, b-but I couldn’t even talk to him!” A fresh wave of tears soaked Julien’s shirtfront.
