by C. A. Szarek
Cera was fighting to function instead of collapsing into a sobbing ball. Her body trembled and she wiped tears away, shaking her head.
I’m stronger than this.
Squaring her shoulders, Cera stood taller.
Trikser whimpered and nudged her hand. He wagged his tail, but all Cera could do was sigh.
Resuming her original course to the stables, she asked a young stable boy to ready Ash for her, pacing as she waited for him to be brought out.
“Your stallion, milady.” The boy smiled as he held his hand out with Ash’s reins. Cera thanked him and he nodded before retreating into the stable.
Smiling, she greeted her horse. She’d missed him. Cera rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes, yearning for simplicity . . . to go back to a time when she was younger and free of responsibility.
Ash whinnied and lipped her hand.
Cera stroked his nose and gave him an affectionate rub along his strong jowls. “I’ve missed you, Ash.” She smoothed her hand along his soft neck.
He nickered as if he agreed, and she climbed up in the saddle, kicking him into an easy trot, Trikser not far behind them.
****
The King’s Riders’ Headquarters stood to the left of the open fields of the training grounds, not very far from the main stables, and was bustling with normal activity that brought back many memories.
Nostalgia hit as Cera rode in and remembered all the times she’d returned from a run. She’d spent most of the last seven turns in Terraquist here at the Riders’ Barracks and not in Greenwald with her family.
Swallowing hard, she ignored that line of thought.
A group of young Riders, their ranks announced by the different colors of their cloaks, was exiting the small eating hall in the center of the headquarters building. More memories of her time here came flooding back.
“Cera,” one of them shouted.
She grinned, recognizing an old friend.
The group swarmed her and everyone demanded her attention at once. Forcing out a breath, Cera greeted everyone she knew and met several she did not.
Normal.
She felt better than she had in days. Coming here had been a fantastic idea.
Here she wasn’t Lady Ryhan or milady. Here she was Cera, Senior King’s Rider. A leader, yes, but with some freedom. People didn’t look to her because of who she was born to be; they looked to her because of her skills. And though many of the other riders were also children of the highborn, among the King’s Riders titles didn’t matter.
Rank was equally earned.
It was truly refreshing.
“I’d heard you were here,” Simond said as Cera dismounted Ash. He gave her an easy smile she was able to return.
Around her age, they’d joined at the same time. He was a pleasant-looking young man, with brown hair and light brown eyes. Tall, but on the lanky side, Simond wore his hunter green Senior Rider cloak with pride.
Cera grabbed her bow and gave Ash’s reins over to the boy who had offered to take him for her, thanking him.
Everyone surrounded her, all of them speaking at once. The chaos was welcome, and warmed her from the inside out.
“How are you?” someone asked.
“Are you staying long?”
“Have you come back?”
All the questions made her head spin, but Cera threw her head back and laughed.
Who do I answer first?
“Let her breathe, everyone,” an amused female voice announced, parting the small group as she strode forward.
Cera grinned. “Aimil!” She rushed forward and grabbed the other girl tight.
Aimil Gallard, daughter of Lord Paxton Gallard of the Province of Ascova, was one of her oldest and dearest friends. She’d joined the Riders because of Cera, something Cera would always be proud of.
Her longtime friend was also bonded to a wolf, Isair. Large, with a coat mixed of red, brown and gray, the female was close on her mistress’s heels, which was probably why the other Riders had scattered.
Although, many a Rider was bonded, Cera didn’t spot any other animals close by.
She felt a silly giggle bubble up.
“It’s good to see you, Lady Ryhan,” Aimil teased with a playful grin, curtsying with her hunter green Senior Rider cloak spread wide, since she wore breeches.
“You as well, Lady Gallard.” Cera grinned back. She surveyed the crowd. A familiar redhead was missing. “Where’s Ansley?”
Ansley Fraser, daughter of Captain Murdoch Fraser, knight and captain of the king’s personal guard, was the third of Cera and Aimil’s little band.
Trouble comes in threes, their captain, Sir Artair Moray, would always joke.
When in Terraquist, they—and their wolves—were rarely apart.
“She’s on a long distance run to the Netian Valley. The lord there had some tragedy and she’ll be running from holding to holding in the area. She’ll be gone all sevenday, maybe next as well.” Aimil frowned.
“Aww, I’d hoped to see her. I probably won’t be here long.” Cera pushed the disappointment away. She’d get to see Ansley, and her bondmate, a black she-wolf named Ali, another time.
“She’ll be sad she missed you,” Aimil said.
Trikser and Isair eyed each other for only a moment followed by a thorough sniff, some tail wagging and then took off at a run side by side into the nearby woods.
Cera and Aimil watched them fondly and then giggled at each other when their eyes met.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Aimil asked. “I don’t see your cloak.”
“No, I’m not back . . . just thought I might practice some,” Cera said, lifting her bow.
“Oh . . . do I sense a challenge?” Aimil grinned, her dark brown eyes flashing.
Cera chuckled.
Her friend was a petite girl, about five feet tall, and had long raven hair that fell to her waist. It was plaited at the moment, as that made it easier to manage when making runs.
Aimil was excellent with a bow, despite her size. Actually, she was one of the few real challengers to Cera’s skill among the Senior Riders.
“You know you only beat me that one time.” Cera smirked, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Until today.” Aimil winked.
She took off at a jog toward the Archery Field.
Simond chuckled. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Head cocked to one side, he fought a smile.
“I’ll make her pay when I defeat her.”
He barked another laugh. “Come on, everyone. For those of you who don’t know her, Cera’s a legend around here.” Simond gestured for the small group of new recruits to follow them.
Cera’s cheeks burned at his praise, her eyes raking over the members of the group, each clad in a red cloak, announcing their rank as equivalent to a page. Her gaze rested on a small girl with light brown hair and big blue eyes who couldn’t have been more than thirteen.
The girl blushed scarlet when Cera smiled at her. “What’s your name?”
“Isobel.”
“Well, come on, Isobel, let me show you how to beat Aimil with a bow.” Cera threw her arm around the girl’s slender shoulders.
Fair brow arched, Simond grinned. “Confident, are we?”
“I never lose twice.”
Simond gave another hearty laugh that lightened her spirits even more.
Visiting Rider Headquarters was a great idea.
****
Braedon looked down into the courtyard from the window of the room he and Vanora had been assigned to, observing Cera hugging Hadrian.
He was saddened to see his old friend leaving so soon, but he’d known—and felt—Hadrian’s unease at being immersed in the world of humans.
The elf wizard would return to his small parcel of land near Berat, and Braedon was glad to know the he’d be right there if and when Braedon needed him.
Hadri
an had shot down Vanora’s plea for him to return to Aramour with them; but despite that, Braedon was going to make sure it wouldn’t be too long before he saw him again.
Braedon was a fool for losing twenty turns of his life. Twenty turns away from his wife, his son, and all the loved ones he’d left in Aramour. He should’ve done a better job of investigation to see if it would’ve been safe to go home, but the running had become ingrained. He sighed.
“Something wrong, love?” Vanora’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Braedon didn’t have adequate words to describe how he felt. She’d accepted him back into her arms as if he’d never left. No blame for him, no malice, not very many questions. Vanora loved him as she always had. Even reminded him so right away.
And making love to his wife was even better than he’d remembered. She was truly his lifemate, as the elves called them.
“No, nothing’s wrong. Just thinking about Hadrian. I’ll miss him . . . again.”
Vanora nodded, smiling.
His breath caught. He’d always been stunned by her beauty.
Couldn’t quite believe she was his.
Still his.
Braedon pulled her into his arms, smiling as he inhaled the floral scent of her hair. She didn’t even come up to his chest, but no one could ever mistake Vanora for a child.
She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes shining and a loving smile shaping the curve of her full lips. “What are you worried about?” Vanora whispered.
One corner of his mouth lifted. His love might not have any magic, but she had a keen sense of intuition. “I thought I was the empath . . .” Braedon chuckled.
“You are, most of the time.” She grinned and snuggled against him. “I just think I know you very well.”
“Aye, love, that you do. Even after all this time.”
Vanora held his gaze, a softness in her eyes that made his heart pound. “Time gone doesn’t matter. Only time moving forward does.”
Braedon nodded, feeling her love for him through his magic so strongly it could have knocked him over. “I love you, Vanora.” He leaned down to claim her mouth in a tender kiss.
She smiled as they parted. “And I love you, Braedon.” Vanora sighed against him as he held her closer. “Are we to return to Aramour soon?”
“As soon as your son fixes his mess,” Braedon said, somewhat worried, somewhat amused.
Even after all they had been through, Jorrin and Cera couldn’t get it together. What exactly had happened was a mystery—neither of them had confided in him—but he’d gathered that Cera refused his son despite the fact the king had announced a formal betrothal.
What could have happened that Cera told Jorrin she wouldn’t be his wife?
They had to work out their differences so she would agree to marry him.
They belonged together, just as he and Vanora belonged together.
“I want to make sure they’re all right before we depart, but I’m more than ready to get home.”
Home. With my wife.
Braedon was actually free.
The king had confirmed the men who’d been after him—magic hunters that harvested people and magical creatures for power and coin—were either apprehended or dead. It made Braedon all the more the fool, though. He’d wasted turns.
You can’t change the past.
He chided himself and forced his focus on the woman in his arms.
“Jorrin has always been stubborn, but he loves that girl. I can see it plain as day,” Vanora remarked.
“Aye, I know it, love.” He caressed her cheek.
“I think they’ll be fine,” she said. “Will the twins accompany us?”
The Leodin twin mages had been even more fascinated with Vanora than they’d been with Hadrian. Edana hadn’t been far from his wife’s side since they’d met.
Vanora had gathered the girl into her small arms and rocked her by the fire. She’d told her all about Aramour, holding her as if she was a child, and not a young woman in her early twenties. His wife had told him a girl needed a mother from time to time, no matter what age she reached. Rory had also clung to his wife’s hand when she spoke.
To see the twins fascinated, content, and connected to their heritage had affected Braedon’s emotions as much as it did theirs. And made him admire the woman he loved even more than he had before.
They’d never seen Aramour. Had no knowledge of their parents, or even where they’d been born. Their mother was most likely their elfin parent, but of that they weren’t even sure—although, Vanora and Hadrian both agreed it was probably the case.
Their earliest memories consisted of living in human slums, no adults to care for them. Jorrin was the first person they’d ever met like them; Hadrian was the first elf they’d ever seen.
Thank the Blessed Spirit the Leodins had found King Nathal.
“For a visit. They wish to return to King Nathal. They see him as a father in many ways.”
“The king is a good man,” Vanora said.
“Aye, he is, love. Our Jorrin is a duke,” Braedon said, wonder washing over him.
His son had never aspired to be such, but Jorrin loved Cera and he’d have to be strong for her.
“And you are my fine knight,” Vanora whispered, her smile proud.
Braedon grinned. “Aye, but I thought I always was.” He winked, and her smile widened to a grin.
“I don’t know . . .” his wife teased, laughing and shaking her head.
Lifting her, he swung her around much like Jorrin had when he’d seen her before the feast.
She laughed and hugged him tighter when he set her to her feet. “Are you still worried about them, love?” Vanora asked.
“I just hope love can conquer all for them.”
Vanora nodded thoughtfully, saying nothing.
Chapter Thirty-one
Cera knocked on the king’s ledger room door. She waited for longer than customary before knocking again, but there was no answer.
“The king is not here, milady,” a small boy—a page— informed her as he walked past.
She whirled on him and his eyes widened.
He was a tiny thing, with bright copper hair, large brown eyes and freckles covering his face.
“Where did he go?”
The boy shifted his slight weight from foot to foot, hands clasped tightly in front of him. “I . . . I was not told, milady.”
Her fists clenched at her sides, Cera growled.
King Nathal’s gone?
She looked down at the page and he flinched.
Did he have any magic?
Her wild emotions seemed to be affecting him.
“Lady Ryhan, is there a problem with Padraig?” a voice asked, taking her attention from the young page.
Cera looked up, her gaze colliding with the knight who’d escorted Jorrin to the king the night before. “No . . . not at all. He’s been helpful,” she said wryly when she noticed the pure relief on the boy’s face as the knight approached.
Padraig excused himself, sprinting down the corridor. Had she not been so irritated at King Nathal, Cera would’ve probably been amused, but she took no pleasure in frightening a small boy.
“Can I help you with something?” The knight didn’t miss a beat, but she read amusement in his hazel eyes.
“Well, I need to speak with the king, Sir . . .”
“Sir Willum Maron.” He gave a small bow. His sandy hair was in need of a trim, and it fell forward. He shoved it out of his eyes and straightened to his full height. He was tall, and probably a few turns older than her. The smile he wore highlighted his handsome face.
He was clad in bright Terraquist blue breeches; his tunic a steel gray. He wore no belt, sword or doublet, but Cera figured he’d already finished training for the day. His hair was damp, and the soothing scent of sandalwood tickled her nose, as if he’d just come from a bath.
Forcing a breath, Cera square
d her shoulders. “I seek an audience with King Nathal, Sir Maron.”
Maybe formality will help.
“I’m sorry, Lady Ryhan, but he’s gone.”
She almost stomped her foot, growling to stop the demand about to tumble out of her mouth. Taking another breath, Cera tried to smile.
Polite. Be. Polite.
“When will he be returning?”
“I’m not sure, my lady, but no more than a day or two.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“My lady?” Sir Willum asked, one fair brow quirked.
“Thank you, Sir Maron,” Cera said with a curt nod. She spun away without another word, silently chiding herself for being rude. Her steps were jerky as she made it down the wide corridor.
Was the king avoiding her?
All the positive feelings and energy she’d worked up at the training grounds beating Aimil’s arrows had faded away as she’d entered Castle Rowan, and once again her thoughts were of Jorrin and pain.
Cera would be unable to avoid him at evening meal—in less than an hour, to boot—they’d be seated together, unless she chose to stay in her room.
That would probably be for the best.
She couldn’t look him in the eye.
Outside her assigned chambers, Cera stared at the closed door across the hall. Squeezing her eyes shut, she refused to think about him.
Yes, because that’s working.
Ordering a bath for later in the evening, Cera smiled at Petra as the girl set out a light blue gown for her to wear to dinner.
Cowardice set in and she asked the maid to order food so she could take her meal in her room.
Petra appeared curious, but didn’t ask any questions.
Cera looked at Trikser, who wagged his tail at her. “You’re much better company anyway.” She ran her hand down her bondmate’s spine, savoring the soft feel of his white fur beneath her fingertips.
He lay beside her on the large bed, leaning into her hand and licking her wrist.
Reclining, she sucked in a breath and settled against the plush pillows, smiling slightly as Trik cuddled closer, resting his large head on her thigh.
