The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  “I’ll be near.” Julien speared the young man with a look that made my new dancing partner pale.

  As it turned out, Daws de Wallis was a fine dancer, as were most of the men who claimed my hand as the evening progressed.

  “You’re Kinley de Whittier’s sister, yes?” A middle-aged knight asked when one of the group dances landed us as partners for a short time.

  I nodded.

  “A pity about Glenhume,” he said. “Such a loss. But I’m sure your father will set it to rights.”

  I made a small sound in my throat that I hoped passed for confirmation, but my thoughts spun as tightly as my heart clenched. What had happened to Lord Whittier’s dukedom? And when?

  “You’ve been to Glenhume?” I asked, wondering how to draw the information from him without giving myself away. “Recently?”

  “Not for years. But rumors, you know.” His eyebrows narrowed, but with concern rather than censure. “Were you away before the attack?”

  “Yes.” My answer came out as a whisper and I had to blink rapidly to dispel the mist in my eyes.

  “I’m so sorry to have mentioned it, Lady Rose. I’m sure it’s a painful subject. Please forgive me.”

  I forced a smile. “Your concern is well met, sir. And I thank you for it.”

  The steps of the dance switched our partners again, and although I managed to smile, my heart was heavy.

  “Something is bothering you,” Julien said as he took my hand for the final dance of the evening.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Only to me.” His hand on the small of my back felt safe. Right.

  “Someone asked me about Glenhume,” I began. “They said it was . . . attacked.” I bit my lip to stop it from quivering.

  He squeezed the hand he held. “It was. About two years ago.”

  “You never said.” I wasn’t accusing, I just didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “And Rowlen!” I said. Julien’s omission was understandable. But my brother’s? Hardly. “When I asked after Lord and Lady Whittier, he acted as if all was well.”

  “Lord and Lady Whittier are well. They and their household were away before the attack,” Julien said. “In fact, nearly everyone was away. They’d been warned.”

  “By your father,” I said. “When he came to get me.”

  “Ah.” Julien nodded. “That fits the timeline.”

  “You said nearly everyone was away.”

  “There was very little loss of life.”

  “But some.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Not everyone heeded the warning. When the village was razed—”

  “Razed?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Destroyed. It was burned. And several small farms, as well.”

  I almost couldn’t bear to ask, but I had to know. “And Mirthan Hall?”

  “The same,” he said softly. “But last I heard, it was nearly rebuilt.”

  I could barely breathe, imagining the cheerful home of my childhood in ruins. “Why would Rowlen not have told me?”

  “You’ve said that all your brothers are overprotective. Perhaps it was his way of protecting you.”

  I nodded. He was probably right. But still. Mirthan Hall. Glenhume. Gone. It was hard to reconcile such a thing, and even harder to know that those who had committed this villainy had been drawn there because of me.

  A tear traced its path down my cheek. Julien brought our clasped hands close and used his thumb to wipe it away. “There’s nothing you could have done to stop it.”

  Julien was quiet as he led me through the more intricate steps of the dance. When the bridge was over and the tempo slowed again he leaned into my ear.

  “While you were dancing with Sir Risson, I spoke with Dyfnel, the scribe.”

  Sir Risson. I searched my mind for a face to put with the name, but there had been too many new faces over the course of the night. And now there was too much weight on my heart to put effort into identifying one among them. “And?”

  “Our passage is secured,” he whispered. “We’ll leave for Tirandov Isle in the morning.”

  When the dance finished, he led me to Erielle to convey our plans.

  “May Rynloeft speed your journey,” she whispered, returning my embrace.

  “Thank you, Erielle,” I whispered as well, but it was due more to the emotions caused by leaving my friend than a desire for secrecy. “I will miss you.”

  “As I will you, my friend.” When she pulled away, she dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “It has been the greatest honor of my life to serve you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The ball left little time for rest before our early morning departure, but even so, my nervousness about meeting the Andoven and my grief over the happenings in Veetri stole the quality from even the spare amount of sleep I was able to claim. After sleeping less than two full hours I awoke to the sharp sort of headache that can only result from such emotions.

  By the time Julien knocked on my door to awaken me, I was already dressed and ready to go, but the new shoes I’d worn to the ball had left my feet swollen and blistered. Forced into my boots, they throbbed in silent protest.

  The sky showed little sign of the approaching dawn when Dyfnel arrived to escort us to the docks. Julien’s bloodshot eyes served as evidence of his own restless night, but heedless to our discomfort, Dyfnel chattered as amiably as if it were midday rather than this uncivilized predawn hour.

  The fog was so thick I could barely see my hand in front of my face—not that I’d take my hands out of my pockets if I could help it. Perhaps it was the early hour and the sluggish way my blood seemed to be moving, but the air seemed much colder than I’d expected after enjoying such temperate days in Port Dyn. Wearing the new gray dress, I was glad for the additional warmth of my cloak. Rather than pin the hairpiece on to my aching head I’d opted to hide my hair beneath the cloak’s ample hood. But I had to wonder if I’d done the right thing. I might welcome the hairpiece’s warmth if the sun failed to warm us when it rose.

  “Hurry now,” Dyfnel said. “The ship I’ve arranged isn’t the sort of vessel that likes to pass time in busy harbors.”

  “Has the Andoven guide already arrived?”

  “Indeed,” Dyfnel said with a slight chuckle. “Indeed.”

  Oil lamps hung at the edge of the walkway, dimly lighting our murky path along the nearly deserted dock. By the time Dyfnel stopped it felt like we had walked a thousand miles and ended up in a foreign land.

  “How will the captain be able to leave the bay without crashing into another ship?” I whispered the question to Julien, but Dyfnel answered.

  “No need to worry. Our captain is a gifted sailor.”

  The old man stopped so abruptly then that I almost ran into him. He lifted the cane, and with a spry flick of his wrist, tossed it into the water. Standing up straighter than I had deemed possible, Dyfnel looked almost a foot taller than he had appeared a moment earlier. He removed his spectacles and pierced me with his gaze.

  His eyes were bright blue. Brighter than even my own. He spoke a greeting into my thoughts.

  I gasped. “You’re Andoven?”

  “Dyfnel de Arturen, at your service. It is my honor to be your guide to Tirandov. But truth be told,” he added, “on this particular ship you have no need of me.” He bowed first to me and then to Julien with a youthful flexibility I would not have guessed him able to achieve mere seconds earlier.

  A gray film of which I had not even been aware lifted from his thoughts, reminding me to cover my own.

  I scowled at him, realizing the deception of his appearance was not the only thing he’d kept from us.

  “You are not the King’s scribe.”

  Julien’s hand moved to his sword.

  “At ease, knight.” Dyfnel smiled. “You are correct. I am not a scribe as you have been led to believe, though I am capable of that position. I am a physician.”

  “A physician
?”

  “Yes.” He stretched again before he continued. “I was at Castle Rynwyk when you were born and my friendship with your mother dates back many years before that.” His eyes took on a watery sheen. “However, now is not the time to dwell on the past. You have much to learn and Tirandov awaits! Shall we?”

  We hurried to follow the Andoven man up a wide boarding plank and onto the ship. As soon as our feet hit the deck, a sailor plucked up the plank and stowed it away.

  “Welcome aboard, Princess.”

  I jumped when a man whispered in my ear.

  “Try to remain as silent as possible until we’re in the open water. We wouldn’t want to raise the alarm, aye?”

  I nodded and turned, but whoever owned the voice had already disappeared in the fog. Dyfnel ushered us to a private area on deck and we settled on benches a bit away from the crew.

  I wasn’t sure I liked the motion of the ship. It made my insides feel displaced, somehow, and the fog, as thick as it was, strained my eyes even more than the dark.

  My hands balled into fists, expecting us to crash into another vessel at any moment. “I hope they know what they’re doing,” I whispered to Julien.

  He squeezed my shoulder. “They do.”

  The minutes stretched and Julien invited me to use him as a back rest. He was positioned in a corner and, when he lifted his left arm and rested it on the rail, it made the perfect place for me to cozy in. “Thank you.”

  Dancing with him last evening had brought fully awake the feelings that I’d been forced to contain while traveling as his squire. Snuggled into the safety of his warmth brought a sense of comfort that put me so at ease I didn’t even know I’d dozed off until a shout roused me.

  I sat up, disoriented.

  “Did you have a nice nap, Your Highness?”

  The voice was stained with a smile I didn’t quite trust, and when I saw to whom it belonged, I thought my suspicion justified.

  In the dim light of encroaching dawn, a young man grinned at me from his place atop a barrel. Beneath a tightly tied blue sash, his black hair hung about his shoulders in loose curls. A spare patch of beard grew just below his lower lip, but stopped shy of his chin, and a jagged white scar traced a path across his left cheek. Bronzed from the sun, his skin bore the sheen of youth, but his eyes, his startling, ice-blue eyes, seemed much older than the rest of him.

  “Who are you?” I scooted closer to Julien.

  “I’m known hereabout as Cazien de Pollis, Your Highness, and I’m the captain of this fine ship. Welcome aboard.”

  “Captain?” I blinked. “But you’re so—”

  “Handsome? Yes. Quite. But I promise my good looks will not impede my ability to transport you safely to Tirandov Isle.”

  “I was going to say young.” Heat scalded my cheeks. He was handsome, but in a very dangerous sort of way.

  “Some would say vain is a more apt description.” Julien’s dry voice rumbled behind me. “But young is certainly as true. Cazien is barely older than you, Princess Rynnaia. But he is our captain and has much more experience than you might expect in one of his years.”

  “You know each other?”

  “I’ve had the occasion to sail with him before and, although many might disagree, I assure you he’s quite harmless.”

  “Harmless? Ach! You wound me, knight.” Cazien shook his head. “To call a pirate harmless is the gravest of insults.”

  “And I trust you will bear it with the restraint and aplomb for which your men are so famous.”

  Their repartee, spoken clearly as words between friends, was so fast I almost missed an important detail. “Did you say pirate?”

  “A pirate? Me? Of course not,” Cazien answered with a wink. As he raised his voice he added a rhythmic sort of music to his words. “No sailor here would dare lay claim to being such a rogue.”

  A chorus of off-tune voices joined their much younger captain in his impromptu song, “Unless he be a pirate of the Seahorse fleet!”

  “You’re Seahorse pirates?” My jaw must have dropped a foot. “Like in the stories?”

  Cazien jumped off his barrel. As he made a low, sweeping bow, a silver chain and pendant caught the light. “Ever at your service, Your Highness.” He rose and winked. “When it pleases me to be, of course.”

  I blinked. When it pleases him? “How do you know who I am?”

  “Apart from the title your loyal knight used to address you?” He laughed. “Ah, I heard of you long ago from my mother. More recently, however, from King Jarryn’s own lips. In a manner of speaking.” He rapped his knuckles against his head. “The Andoven connection, you know. It comes in handy for the King when he wishes to order me about. And occasionally,” he laughed and waggled his eyebrows, “I even choose to comply.”

  “You’re Andoven?”

  “A bit.”

  “More than a bit, I’d say.” Dyfnel followed his hrrumph by mumbling, “Among other things.”

  I turned to Julien. “Does the King know our captain is a pirate?”

  Julien nodded as laughter filled the deck. I blushed to the roots of my hidden red hair.

  “Oh, he knows,” Cazien replied. “His Majesty happens to be my cousin. A distant cousin, of course,” he said with a grin, “but a cousin nonetheless. That makes us family, Princess, whether you like it or not.”

  Family. Two months ago I didn’t even know my real name. Now I had a king for a father and a pirate for a cousin? I turned to Julien. “Rowlen is going to go absolutely mad with jealousy when he hears about this.”

  Julien smiled. “Perhaps you should keep it to yourself, then?”

  I shook my head. “Not possible.”

  He laughed.

  “Come, cousin.” Cazien stood and offered his hand. “Let me show you the sunrise.”

  I slipped my hand into my cousin’s and allowed him to lead me away from Julien’s warmth. Standing at the bow of the ship with pirates—pirates!—all around me, I watched a spectacular dance of color streak the sky with orange, pink, purple, and gold. I had never seen such an amazing dawn and said as much.

  “I never tire of watching the sun rise from the sea,” Cazien sighed. “The sight alone is worth the early hour. So what fair task has my friend Jarryn devised that requires you to keep company with the stodgy old Andoven?”

  “It wasn’t just him,” I said, pausing to cover a yawn. “Lady Anya told me to seek the Andoven and that they would help me on my quest. Whatever that means.” I bit my lip and turned to Julien, who, of course, had followed us. “Should I not have said that?”

  “Your father puts great trust in Cazien and the Seahorse fleet. I don’t think he would mind.”

  Cazien’s lip twitched. “But perhaps you do, Julien?”

  When Julien smiled but refrained from answering, the pirate simply laughed and turned back to me. “Not everyone shares your father’s fondness for my family’s way of life,” he said with a wink. “But I want to hear more of this business with Lady Anya.” Cazien made a face that seemed to question my sanity and poke fun at the same time. “How did she give you this grand bit of instruction? It is my understanding that Lady Anya has long since passed from this world.”

  “Well I guess she left a bit of herself behind.” I glared at him. “Because one moment I was reading her poetry and the next I was watching her write it.”

  The laughter faded from the pirate’s eyes. “If that is true,” he said slowly, darkly, “then you are gifted beyond what your lineage prescribes.”

  Dyfnel grinned and slapped Cazien on the back. “Of course she is!” He turned back to me. “I was not told of this news! You must have seen an original copy, Princess! Imagine, Cazien! The first written copy of the prophecy, written in the prophet’s own hand! Remarkable!”

  “Remarkable, indeed,” the pirate mumbled.

  I looked back and forth between the two men. “What does that have to do with it?”

  “For a poet,” Dyfnel began, “truth flows out from
the imagination, through the hand, and on to parchment as ink. But when it is copied by another hand, a hand not so invested in the telling, it is diluted.”

  He looked at me as if waiting for a reply, but when he got none, he continued. “As an Andoven, especially an Andoven of your unique gifting, you are able to see all of the emotion and truth as the author herself saw it! May I ask where you came across this ancient volume?”

  “Yes.” Cazien rubbed his chin, seeming to assess me in a different light. “Do tell, Princess.”

  My eyes narrowed on the pirate. Did he think me a liar? “I came across the book in Mynissbyr.”

  The pirate’s expression never changed, but something briefly lit in his eyes, almost as if he had foreknowledge of my answer. “And you found this book . . . where?”

  “At Fyrlean Manor.”

  “And what about the scrolls?” He tilted his head as if that wasn’t the answer he had expected. “Were they also inside the manor?”

  “Did you think the Regent’s family would store them outdoors?” I laughed.

  “Of course not. I just wondered how the scrolls came to be in their possession.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t.” When he smiled his face was clear of deception, yet I knew he was hiding something. Something that made me think that, for Cazien de Pollis, the answer to that question meant very much indeed, but that he would not, perhaps even upon pain of death, reveal why.

  Even though it felt wrong to attempt to read another’s thoughts without permission, I couldn’t help myself. I had to know what my pirate cousin was hiding—and if the information I’d thoughtlessly imparted was safe in his hands.

  When we locked eyes, the ice-blue determination in his gaze nearly froze me to the spot. But I couldn’t get so much as a swirl of gray from his thoughts.

  Nice try, Princess.

  I gasped to find Cazien’s voice in my head, but its tone exactly matched the amused smirk on his face. What sort of Andoven was he, anyway?

  No kind you’ll likely come across again. But I’ll not betray you.

  Dyfnel spoke then and I was forced to move my attention back to the older man.