The Story Peddler

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  Creator, if you’re real and if you’re like Karlith says you are, then you can see all the folks I’m missing right now. Please, help them. Keep them safe.

  When I opened my eyes, a blazing white tree hovered before me. It was one of those weepy, lazy ones that grew by the riverbanks and swayed in the gentlest of breezes. They’d always been my favorites.

  “Amen?”

  The tree crystallized and dropped into my lap—so clear it was almost like it was air made solid. If such a thing were possible.

  I settled in to say another prayer. One for the folks in Pembrone. But I couldn’t even let my mind settle on it anymore. Not knowing their fates was eating away at me too heartily.

  I set my river tree on the windowsill and hopped off the couch. I took to pacing like a caged animal.

  Which I basically was.

  A caged animal in a luxury prison, praying to some god who may not exist. I sighed. But, fairy story or not, it was worth trying.

  “Creator, if Brac is alive—”

  Before I got any further, someone knocked on my door. The lock clicked from the outside.

  I froze on the fancy rug. Could it be the princess again? Maybe a summons from Gareth? Maybe the guard, come to throw me in the dungeon after all. Just in case, I grabbed the river tree off my window and tucked it behind one the throw pillows on the sofa. Then I squared my shoulders and marched to the door, pretending I’d bravely meet whatever waited on the other side of it. I twisted the knob and pulled it open.

  If a mountainbeast had been doing a jig in the hallway, I couldn’t have been more shocked.

  Straw-colored hair, sun-pinked nose, lopsided grin.

  “Brac!”

  And it was. Really and truly.

  But he was decked out head to toe in the black uniform of the palace guard.

  Chapter 35

  Tanwen

  “Brac!” I jumped up and looped my arms around his neck. I breathed in his scent—sunshine and sweat and mischief.

  “Tannie.” He exhaled the word into my ear like he had thought he’d never see me again, which I guessed was basically true. “You’re alive.”

  Suddenly, I pushed him away with both hands and took a good look at him.

  I hadn’t been addled. He truly was dressed in the uniform of a palace guardsman. Ever since Brac had been able to grow whiskers, he had always been clean shaven or sporting a couple days’ lazy stubble. But now his face showed the beginnings of a close-cropped beard.

  Just like all guardsmen wore.

  “Brac . . .” I took a step away from him.

  War broke out in my mind. He was here. Safe. Alive. In one solid piece I could touch and see. But he looked like one of them—those he’d once despised. Those who had become my enemy.

  “Brac, how . . . ?” My warring mind couldn’t seem to quiet long enough to piece together a sentence.

  His lopsided smile shone at me like the afternoon sun. “It’s all right, Tannie. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

  “But you’re . . . a guardsman?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “Stop saying that!” I took another shaky step backward.

  Brac’s smile melted like a pat of grazer-cream butter left out in the summer heat. “Tannie.”

  “A guardsman, Brac? How could . . . I mean, what in the wide world is going on?”

  Brac’s lips pressed together. Then he turned to face someone I couldn’t see outside in the hallway. “Sir, permission to speak to the storyteller in her own chambers?” The formal speech grated against his Pembroni accent and made me want to throw my hands over my ears to block out the unnatural sound.

  A rumbling laugh sounded just outside my door. “Permission to ‘speak’ in her chambers, eh, Bo-Bradwir?”

  Brac’s cheeks reddened, even under his sunburn. “It ain’t like that, sir. Well, it is a bit, but I just want to talk to her. The lass has had a shock and is a bit scrambled at the moment.”

  Well, at least he could still speak like a proper farm lad when he was embarrassed.

  “Right, right, Bo-Bradwir. Didn’t mean to question your courtly honor.” Another rumbling laugh. “Be quick about it, and report down to the stables when you’re done. I hear Captain’s got a surprise for you—at the stables, so two guesses what it is.”

  The laugh faded with the sound of a couple pairs of heavy boots.

  Brac barely seemed to notice me anymore. His eyes glowed like a couple of Harvest Moons shoved in his face. “Did you hear, Tannie? Captain’s got a horse—for me!”

  I stuck both my fists on my hips and glared something terrible at him. “And just what could you have done that would earn a horse out of Gareth’s stables!”

  Brac sighed. “I know we’ve been a bit hard about the king in the past. But, honestly, I thought you might’ve changed your stripes after all that’s happened.”

  Something caught in my chest. The swirl of emotional chaos—like a bunch of rogue story strands or Dylun’s fiery colormaster magic—stilled to a deathly stop inside me.

  Wait, the strands seemed to say to me. Listen to what he has to say.

  My rational mind filled in the last blank.

  Because Brac doesn’t know the whole story.

  I fought my shaking body into quietness. “Tell me what happened.”

  A gentle smile—the summer sun again—broke over Brac’s lips. “There you are, lass.” He strolled into my chambers and stopped in the middle of the embroidered rug. “Whoa. This is quite the place they’ve fixed you up with, ain’t it?”

  “Yes.” I ground out the word out through clenched teeth. “It was—” But something made me stop short of telling him my family used to live here. Not until I’d heard his story. “It was empty for a long time,” I finished instead.

  I could say that much truthfully.

  Brac flopped onto the couch by the window, then winced. “I’ll tell you what. These guardsman uniforms may look right nice, but they ain’t so comfortable as a body might hope.”

  I gawked at the breastplate over his chest. Couldn’t get over how odd it looked on him. “No, I wouldn’t guess so.”

  I’d never seen him dressed in anything so fine—never seen him in anything at all except homespun wool and linen. I’d think him as handsome as anyone I’d ever seen if not for the fact that he now looked exactly like all those men who’d threatened me. Or let their hands wander while I scrubbed tables in Blodwyn’s tavern just before I started peddling. Or treated me like I wasn’t worth the spit to shine their boots.

  Something pinched inside me. Had I once been willing to suffer all that from the guardsmen if only they’d get me closer to Urian? And barely a moon ago at that.

  The realization roiled around in my stomach.

  “Tannie?” Brac bolted up on the couch. “What is it, lass? You look sick.”

  “I’m fine.” I lowered down onto one of the chairs at the dining table. “But I need you to start talking.”

  The grin reblossomed. “Been a wild couple of weeks, eh?”

  “Brac, please. They said there had been lashings,” I remembered aloud.

  “Aye.” His smile dipped and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “That was a right shame. She should’ve cooperated.”

  My throat squeezed. “Who?”

  “Blodwyn.”

  I closed my eyes and forced myself not to vomit. “What happened?”

  “The questioned her about you—your whereabouts, who you might know in other towns. She didn’t know nothin’, even, but she was right feisty about it. Earned those lashes, I’m afraid.”

  I couldn’t form a reply. My gaze drifted back to the black uniform. “And that?”

  His smile reappeared. “That all started when you were kidnapped.”

  And there it was. Kidnapped.

  “When those folks came and ripped you from your own cottage—kidnapped you in the dark of night. Well, I couldn’t sit by, could I? Even if it meant working with the
guard and getting all friendly with the king. Right?”

  I nodded. Of course that’s what it’d looked like to Brac. I’d left no note. How could he have known I was going with Mor, Zel, and Gryfelle of my own free will?

  Well, free-ish will. Hadn’t felt like much of a choice back on that night a few weeks ago. But thank the heavens it had been the right one.

  Because I’d met Mor.

  Why did those rogue thoughts pop into my head, unbidden, at the worst possible moments? My fluttery stomach and nonexistent romance with Mor should have been the least of my concerns, yet I couldn’t seem to stop thinking of that pirate.

  Brac cut into my thoughts. “Mam and Da and I—we all worked with the guardsmen to find where the kidnappers had taken you. I told them no one knew the town, or you, well as I did. I told them I’d help them if they’d give me a spot in the guard.”

  Brac crossed the room and knelt on the floor before me. He grabbed my hands in his. “I didn’t care what it took. I was going to help find you. Imagine me, son of Farmer Bradwir, getting to travel around the peninsula any other way.”

  I swallowed down my resurfacing breakfast. “That’s true. I understand why you did it, Brac.”

  “Plus, I had to explain to them that you wasn’t guilty of all them things they were accusing you of. I mean, I know you’ve had some things to say about the king, but it was always you that calmed me down. I knew you wouldn’t commit nothing like treason. Especially not when you was working so hard to get to be the king’s storyteller. It was me that convinced them you were innocent.”

  Another war erupted in my head.

  Should I tell him I wasn’t really kidnapped? Did I tell him about the Corsyth and the weavers there and why they were hiding? Should I tell him the guard was just using him? Did I tell him that Gareth was worse than we had ever imagined?

  I looked at his eyes, shining with hope.

  No. It was safer for him if he didn’t know. Knowledge—truth—was the greatest danger around Gareth. The more I shielded Brac from it, the better off he’d be.

  I tried to squish out a smile. “So, what’d you do to earn one of the king’s horses? And get promoted to the palace guard, for that matter?” I eyed the sleek black uniform again.

  Brac chuckled. “Turns out a peninsular farm lad is just what’s needed in some ‘royal investigations,’ as the captain would say.”

  I frowned at that. What did he mean?

  “Don’t bother about it, Tannie,” he said as he squeezed my hands. “Soldierly business. Let’s talk about happier things.”

  I gently freed one of my hands from his and smoothed his hair back into its tail. “Like what?”

  “Haven’t you noticed?” He laughed. “We’re here!”

  “Where?”

  “Urian! Just like you wanted. You’re the Royal Storyteller, and I’m a guardsman, real and true. Don’t you realize you finally have all the things you’ve been wishing for?”

  Of course, he was absolutely right. If we’d been talking about the Tanwen who existed a moon ago. She seemed more like the vapor of one of Gryfelle’s song strands. At least to me.

  “Honestly, Tannie.” Brac reached up to touch my cheek. “I thought you’d be happier after you got over the shock. You sure you’re all right?”

  I forced my head to nod. “Sure. It’s just been . . . a lot to take in. You know, for a farm lass.”

  Brac’s grin stretched a league in each direction. “Not a farm lass anymore. Royal Storyteller. I’m so proud of you, Tannie.” He kissed my hand.

  “Thanks, Brac.” A flood of tears welled behind my eyes. Couldn’t even figure what they were for this time. Just the utter mess of it all, I supposed.

  “Tannie, I’m a guardsman now.”

  “I know it, Brac.”

  “Maybe I’ll be a knight someday.”

  A wave of dizziness swept over me. “That’d be . . . real nice.”

  “If I do . . . I mean, it’s much more respectable than a farmer.”

  Suddenly, Brac sat up so that his mouth was level with mine. Then he kissed me. I inhaled sharply. Felt wronger than snow in summer to have Brac Bo-Bradwir on my lips.

  And that’s when I knew everything was changed between me and Brac. Forever.

  How in the wide world would I ever explain that to him?

  He finally pulled away. “Do you think we could have it all, Tannie? Your dreams and mine? Could we really be together and raise a family in Urian?”

  A shower of tears leaked from my eyes before I could stop them. “I . . . I don’t know, Brac.”

  I didn’t have the strength to tell him I was trying to tear Urian to the ground. Or that my heart belonged to another.

  Chapter 36

  Tanwen

  I shot up in bed. Felt like I’d barely slept a wink again, with all the tossing and turning I’d been doing over Brac.

  But that wasn’t what had startled me. A racket sounded somewhere—distant, like I was listening to it under water.

  No. Not under water. Through two heavy oak doors.

  I slid my feet into silken slippers the princess had handed down to me and shuffled out of my sleeping chambers and into the front room of my apartments. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the window. Day two of my nightmare had begun.

  “Tanwen En-Yestin,” an unfamiliar voice barked on the other side of the door. A man—guardsman, no doubt.

  Had the king finally changed his mind? Decided the daughter of his old enemy Yestin shouldn’t be allowed to keep breathing?

  Either way, it wasn’t like I could hide out in my chambers. They had the only key. Might as well open the door.

  I pulled the door open.

  Sure as a shipwreck, there was a black-clad guardsman I’d never seen before.

  I squinted in the glare of his torch. “Morning?”

  “King Gareth requests your presence.”

  I felt the creases on my forehead deepen. “Now? What time is it?”

  “Not now. At afternoon council, of course.” He stared at me like it was perfectly normal to wake a lass at sunrise to tell her she was wanted in the afternoon.

  “He thought it’d take me this long to get ready?” I covered a yawn with one hand.

  The guardsman snorted. “The king summons when he pleases. Best get used to it, lass.” His eyes roamed up and down the length of me, like he was seeing me for the first time. “Must say, I don’t mind seeing the sun rise if it means I get to call on lasses in their chambers—especially not ones as pretty as you.”

  I didn’t even try to fake a smile. “Thanks for the message.” I closed the door with a snap.

  And so it begins.

  The stiff corset jabbed into my ribs and squeezed the breath from my lungs. The princess’s hand-me-down gown added several inches and what felt like several dozen pounds to my frame. Braith’s borrowed beauticians had twisted my hair into curls, yanked it into braids, and pinned it all onto my head until I felt like the dressmaker’s poke cushion.

  Still, if I were being honest, I felt pretty. Couldn’t help wishing that when I walked through the heavy doors to the throne room, Mor might be standing in the crowd.

  Of course, if he were, that’d probably mean he’d been arrested. Then neither he nor I would give a flying flatcake how pretty I looked.

  Just the idea of him being arrested set my rabble of stomach-dwelling painted-wings fluttering at an impossible pace.

  “King’s calling for you, lass.” A guardsman keeping watch by the door nodded to me. “Ready?”

  “Does it matter?” My sharp reply tumbled out before I could stop it. I tried to suck it back in with a smile. “Sorry. Nervous.”

  The guardsman only managed a weak smile in return. “Don’t blame you, lassie.”

  With that extra splash of terror doused over my head, I stepped into the throne room.

  Gareth’s council was seated around its table—His Majesty of Deceit and Princess Braith in their thrones on the da
is. Another lady sat up there, and she could only be the queen. She looked much like Princess Braith—tall and pale. But without Braith’s gentleness and grace, the queen’s features seemed ugly somehow.

  “Tanwen En-Yestin.” Gareth smiled beneath his beard. “Welcome to court.”

  For some reason, this made the sea of overdressed courtiers titter.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the princess incline her head toward me, ever-so-slightly.

  I scrambled to curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Another titter through the crowd, and I guessed I looked pretty awkward trying to curtsy in this heavy sea-blue dress.

  Braith cleared her throat. “Tanwen, you look lovely. You wear that dress far better than I ever might have.”

  Queen Frenhin laughed. “I knew I recognized it.” Then she turned to her daughter. “Has it become your custom to give your gowns to the servants, Braith darling?”

  I never thought I’d be in a fix where I’d rather be standing before all Gareth’s court in my skivvies than in a fine gown. But I might’ve preferred my skivvies to this moment of humiliation.

  Braith only smiled at her mother’s rudeness. “Tanwen fits beautifully into these gowns, Mother. Remember? They’re the ones I outgrew before I even wore them. And besides”—she cast a tight-lipped smile at me that seemed an apology—“I’d hardly call the Royal Storyteller a servant. Would you?”

  “I suppose not,” the queen said stiffly. She glanced at her husband. “Is she here to perform for us?”

  “Indeed,” the king answered. “I was in the mood for a little entertainment.”

  At sunrise, I added to myself. How strange to be a king and not worry about inconveniencing anyone else.

  I curtsied again. “What story may I tell to you, Majesty?”

  “Oh, Your Majesty,” the high priest said. “Do have her tell one of the goddesses’.” He turned toward me. “I would love to see her make another attempt at orthodoxy.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at his head, smooth and bare as a river stone.