by Morgan Rice
Thor tucked the scroll and the diamond ring safely inside his shirt, and as he put it away, his thought turned to only one person.
Gwendolyn.
Give it to the one you love.
“That is all I have for you,” he said, standing.
Thor stood, too.
“So you see,” he said, “you have no more business here. You have received what you’ve come to find.”
Thor looked back up at this pathetic man, who had once loomed so large for him. He felt a deep sadness.
“Before I leave, tell me one thing,” Thor said. “Did you ever have any love for me? Any at all?”
Thor needed to know. For his own sake. For some reason, it was important to him.
Slowly, sadly, the man shook his head.
“I wish I could say that I did,” he said solemnly. “But my life was my three boys. They are who mattered to me. You were always a burden to me. To this entire family. If you want the truth, there it is.”
Slowly, sadly, Thor nodded, realizing it was the truth, and grateful, at least for that. If this man could not give him anything else in life, at least he could give him that.
“Do not worry,” Thor said, preparing to leave. “I shall never burden you-ever again.”
Thor turned and walked out the shed, across the man’s yard, back to his horse.
As he mounted it and began to ride away, out of this village for the last time in his life, he could have sworn he heard something behind him, could have sworn he heard the man call out. He could have sworn he heard the man call his name, longingly, apologetically, one last time.
But as the noise of the horses’ hooves rose up, Thor could not be entirely sure.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Reece’s heart was pounding as he made his way across the small village of Sulpa, on his way to see Selese. He wiped his sweating palms on his pants yet again and realized he hadn’t been this nervous in as long as he could remember. He had procrastinated from seeing her for the better part of the morning, joining his brothers as they rebuilt the town gate. As the first sun had grown high in the sky, he had continued to lose himself in the chain line, handing off large blocks of stone, passing them down the line, then helping his brothers mortar them in the wall. By the time the second sun had risen the wall had grown nearly four feet high, thanks to all of their labor, and when they all finally took a break, he realized the time had come. He could put it off no longer. He had been distracted the entire time with thoughts of her, and he had to confront his fear.
Reece finally broke off from the group and made his way through the dusty streets of the village, his palms sweated as he neared her cottage. She had done her job masterfully-the wound in his shoulder barely hurt anymore, and he felt as if he had never been infected. Yet he needed an excuse to approach her, and figured maybe somehow that could be it. After all, he could say that he was there for a checkup. And then if it did not go well between them, he would have an excuse to leave.
Reece breathed deep, doubling his pace, and strengthened his resolved. He knew he should have nothing to fear. After all, he was a prince, son to a King, and she was a mere commoner in a remote village on the outskirts of the Ring. She should be thrilled by his advances. But even in his delirium, he had sensed something in her eyes. She was willful. Noble. Proud. Independent. So a part of him wondered how she would react.
Reece stopped before her door, and hesitated. He breathed deep, and realized he was sweating, and wiped his palms again. His heart pounded as he stood there, and a part of him did not want to go through with this. Yet he knew that if he did not, he would think of nothing else.
Reece steeled himself, reached up, and slammed the knocker. Several passersby turned and looked at him, and he felt self-conscious, especially as the iron knocker echoed way too loudly.
He stood there, shifting, not knowing what to do with himself, as he waited and waited. Just as he decided she wasn’t home, just as he was about to turn around and leave, suddenly, the door opened.
Reece’s throat went dry. She stood there, proud, confident, staring back at him, her blue eyes aglow in the rays of the second sun. It took his breath away. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered. Her black hair dropped down on either side of her face, framing it, her cheeks were high, her chin proud, and she had the bearing of someone from a royal court. He could not understand what a girl like her was doing here, in this humble village. She seemed too big for this place.
Reece realized he was staring, and he cleared his throat and shifted, as she looked back, waiting. She was expressionless, maybe slightly amused. She was not making this easy on him.
“I…um…I,” Reece began, stopping and starting, looking down, then up, “I have come to check on you.”
She burst out laughing.
“To check on me?” she asked quizzically.
Reece reddened.
“I meant…um…to check on me.”
She laughed harder.
“What!?” she asked. “You have come here to check on yourself?”
“I meant…um…,” he said, reddening, “for you to check on me. I mean-on my wound.”
She looked at him, her eyes aglow with laughter, and smiled from ear to ear. He felt like an idiot. He had already messed things up.
“Have you?” she asked skeptically, clearly not buying it. “And why would you do that? I told you yesterday that your wound was healed.”
Reece reddened even further, toeing the dirt, looking down, not sure what to say. His entire life, being at the center of King’s Court, he had encountered thousands of people, and had felt comfortable speaking to anyone. Girls had always sought him out, and he had always had to deter their advances-and he had never felt nervous before. He was not used to pursuing girls. And this one was different. There was something about her that kept him off-balance.
“I um…I…guess…well, it was hurting a bit,” he said, not knowing what else to say.
She smiled, clearly not buying it.
“A bit?” she asked. “Well, if your wound was infected, it would hurt a lot. And it’s healing, so a little bit of pain is normal. Aren’t you a big strong warrior of the Legion?” she asked with a laugh.
Reece was flustered, not imagining it would go this way.
He turned to go, embarrassed, when suddenly she stepped out and laid two hands on his arm. She held up his arm and examined it with a professional eye, studying the wound. She ran a hand along it, then rolled back his sleeve.
Despite everything, the feel of her hand on his arm electrified him. It made it hard for him to think clearly.
“Your wound is just fine,” she said. “I am proud of my handiwork, in fact.”
“I came here to thank you,” Reece said softly. “For saving my life.”
“I thought you came because your wound hurt?” she asked, smiling, her eyes twinkling, clearly enjoying this.
Reece flushed.
“I didn’t save your life,” she added, finally rescuing him. “Your friends did. They got you here quickly. If they had waited any longer, nothing would have saved you.”
Reece nodded back, not knowing what else to say. He was stumped-and was impressed by her humility.
“So was there something else you wanted?” she asked, still smiling.
She was not going to make this easy on him. He looked into her eyes, playful, intelligent, and he felt that she was too smart for him. She saw right through him, and she had from the second he walked up to her door. She clearly wanted him to say what was on his mind, and would not let him off the hook until he did.
“Well…um,” he said, swallowing. This was not easy. He did not remember it being this difficult to speak to girls before.
“I suppose there was something else,” he said. “I guess…I am wondering…what you think of me? I mean…of us?”
“Of us?” she asked, laughing.
Reece reddened. He just could not get his bearings around her.
“I m
ean-I guess-I was wondering-if-do-you have a boyfriend?”
Reece finally got it out, feeling relieved that he did. He hadn’t felt this anxious in years. He had rather be back fighting that Forsyth than putting himself through this torture.
But now that it was out there, he looked up and met her eyes-now the ball was in her court. Now it was her turn to be flustered.
Selese blinked several times and looked away, then looked down and fidgeted with her hands.
“And what business is that of yours?” she asked.
“I mean you no offense, my lady,” he said. “I was just wondering-”
“I do not have a boyfriend,” she said.
Reece looked at her with renewed hope. But she still looked back at him proudly, standoffish.
“Nor do I wish to have one,” she added.
He looked back, puzzled.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Because I’ve not found a man suitable for me in this village.”
“And what about from outside your village?”
“Travelers rarely pass through here. And when they do, I am too busy with my healing arts.”
“Well…I am passing through here,” Reece said.
She looked into his eyes, smiling.
“And?” she said.
Reece looked back, flustered. Why was she making this so hard? Was she not interested? It appeared as if she wasn’t. He was becoming exhausted.
“I am the son of a King,” he said, and immediately regretted it. He hated boasting; it was not who he was. But he was desperate and found himself flailing, and he did not know what else to say. It just came out.
“And?” she prodded. “What difference does that make?”
Reece did not understand her.
“To most women in this kingdom, that would make a great difference,” he said. “All the difference in the world.”
Slowly, she shook her head.
“I’m not most women,” she said. “I am not impressed by titles, or land, or riches. I will leave that for other women.”
He studied her, trying to understand her.
“What does impress you then?” he asked.
She seemed to think for a moment.
“Honesty,” she said. “Loyalty. And maybe…perseverance.”
“Perseverance?” he asked.
She smiled coyly.
“And what of your love life?” she asked.
Reece stumbled.
“I’m not presently engaged to any woman,” Reece responded, trying to sound noble and proper. “If I were, I would not be speaking with you.”
“Wouldn’t you?” she asked, smiling, clearly enjoying this. “And then why would a King’s son take an interest in a simple villager?”
Reese took a deep breath. It was time for him to tell her how he felt.
“Because when I look into your eyes, my lady, I see far more than a simple villager. I feel something that I’ve never felt for any woman. When I look at you, I cannot look away. And it takes my breath away to see you. My lady, I am in love.”
He was shocked and proud of himself. For the first time, he had stopped stumbling and had managed to get it all out, to say how he really felt. He could not believe the words had escaped. But they were all true. And now that they were out, it was her turn to react as she wished.
For the first time in their conversation, she seemed truly caught off guard. She blinked several times, and shifted, and he could see her cheeks flush.
“You speak strong words,” she said. “How am I to know they are true?”
“My lady, I never lie,” Reece replied, earnest.
She looked down and toed the sand.
“Words are just words,” she finally said. “They don’t mean anything.”
“And what does mean something?” he asked.
She shrugged, silent. He could tell that she was guarded, slow to trust.
“And then how do I prove my love to you?” he pressed.
She shrugged again.
“You have your world, and I have mine,” she said. “Sometimes worlds should stay that way.”
Reece felt his heart falling, and couldn’t help but feel as if she were telling him to leave.
“Are you asking me to go?” he asked, heartbroken.
She looked into his eyes. They were soulful, knowing eyes, and he felt himself getting lost in them. He could not tell what her expression said.
“If you wish,” she replied.
Reece’s heart dropped.
He turned and walked off, feeling crushed. He was confused; he wasn’t sure if he had been rejected-but he certainly had not been embraced. Selese was a mystery to him; he wondered if he would ever understand her.
He increased his pace, heading back towards his Legion brothers, towards a world he did understand, and wishing he had never come here. If this was the girl who had saved his life, a part of him wished it had never been saved at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Godfrey ran through the back alleys of the seediest part of King’s Court, trying to keep up with the young boy as he weaved in and out of the crowds, running ever since the graveyard. Akorth and Fulton trailed behind him, struggling to catch up, breathing hard, not in as good shape as he-and Godfrey was not in great shape, so that wasn’t saying much. Too many years in the alehouse had affected all of them, and chasing after this boy was a mighty struggle. As Godfrey heaved, he resolved to turn over new leaf, to stop drinking for good, and to start getting into shape. This time, he meant it.
Godfrey shoved a drunk out of his way, sidestepped a young man trying to sell him opium and pushed his way past a row of whores as this part of town became worse and worse, the alleys narrowing, filled with sewage and mud. This boy was quick and knew these streets well, twisting his way through shortcuts, around vendors-it was obvious that he lived somewhere close.
Godfrey had to catch him. Clearly, there was a reason this boy was running, why he had not stopped since they’d spotted him at the grave. He was scared. He was Godfrey’s only hope of finding the proof he needed to find his assassin-and to bring down his brother.
The boy knew his way around here well, but Godfrey knew it even better. What Godfrey lacked in speed he made up for in wit, and having spent nearly his entire life drinking and whoring in these streets, having spent way too many nights here running from his father’s guards, Godfrey knew these streets too well-better, even, than the boy. So when he saw the boy turn left down a side street, Godfrey immediately knew that that street hooked around, and that there was only one way out. Godfrey saw his chance: he took a shortcut between buildings, preparing to head the boy off at the pass.
Godfrey leapt out of the alley just in time to block the boy’s path, who, looking back over his shoulder, never saw it coming. Godfrey tackled him from the side and drove him down hard into the mud.
The boy screamed and flailed, and Godfrey reached up and grabbed his arms and pinned him down.
“Why do you run from me?” Godfrey demanded.
“Leave me alone!” the boy shouted back. “Get off of me. Help! Help!”
Godfrey smiled.
“Do you forget where we are? There is no one around to help you here, boy. So stop shouting and speak to me.”
The boy breathed hard, wide-eyed in fear, and at least he stopped shouting. He stared back at Godfrey, scared but also defiant.
“What do you want from me?” the boy asked, between breaths.
“Why did you run from me?”
“Because I didn’t know who you were.”
Godfrey looked down, skeptical.
“Why were you in that graveyard? Who do you know was killed? Who was buried there?”
The boy hesitated, then relented.
“My brother. My older brother.”
Godfrey, feeling bad for the boy, loosened his grip a bit, but not enough to let him go yet.
“Well I’m sorry for you,” Godfrey said. “But not for myself. Your br
other tried to poison me the other night. In the Tavern.”
The boy’s eyes opened wide in surprise, but he kept silent.
“I know nothing of the plot,” the boy said.
Godfrey narrowed his eyes, and knew for sure that this boy was hiding something.
As Akorth and Fulton arrived behind him, Godfrey got to his feet and grabbed the boy by his shirt, and picked him up with him.
“Where do you live, boy?” Godfrey asked.
The boy looked from Godfrey to Akorth and Fulton, and remained silent. He seemed scared to answer.
“He’s probably a homeless bugger,” Fulton volunteered. “I bet he doesn’t even have any parents. He’s an orphan.”
“That’s not true!” the boy protested. “I DO have parents!”
“They probably hate you, want nothing to do with you,” Akorth goaded.
“You’re a LIAR!” the boy screamed. “My parents LOVE me!”
“And then where do they live, if these parents exist?” Fulton asked.
The boy fell silent.
“I will make this very simple for you,” Godfrey said, matter-of-fact. “Either you tell us where you live, or I will drag you to the King’s Castle and have you chained to the dungeon, never to come out.”
The boy looked at him, eyes widening in fear, then, after several tense seconds, he lowered his eyes to the ground, raised an arm behind him, and pointed.
Godfrey followed his finger to see a small attached house-more like a shack, leaning to one side, looking as if it might collapse at any moment. It was narrow, barely ten feet wide, and had no windows. It was the poorest place he had ever seen.
He grabbed the boy’s arm, and dragged him towards his home.
“We’ll see what your parents have to say about your behavior,” Godfrey said.
“No, Mister!” the boy cried out. “Please don’t tell on me to my parents! I didn’t do anything! They’ll get mad!”
Godfrey led him there, pleading and protesting, then kicked open the door and let himself inside, dragging the boy, Akorth and Fulton behind him.
