Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1)

by Kindrie Grove

  Torrin’s eyes were intense. “Rowan Mor Lanyar,” he replied with equal formality. “You have returned all and more than you have received from us. You have brightened all our lives over the last weeks.” His voice shook and he reached out to gently touch her face, his fingers, warm and rough but light as a whisper, tracing the line of her cheek.

  Then he bent down and kissed her. His arm slipped around her waist and the fingers of his other hand twined through her hair. Breathless, Rowan found herself enveloped by his warm strength, swept through his wall into richness and love; her heart ached as she witnessed the depth of him.

  Falling into Torrin, she surrendered, wrapping her arms around his neck and returning his kiss with everything of herself, matching his depth with her own. His arms tightened around her in response and heat spread through her, tingled on her skin where he touched her, on her mouth as his lips pressed on hers.

  Releasing her suddenly, Torrin stepped back and Rowan gasped as his walls slammed down, shutting her out. The balcony spun as she struggled to calm her racing heart. The splashing of the fountain was too loud and the lights of the city, once warm, were now cold and bleak. She drew in a shaking breath, concentrating on keeping her feet.

  Torrin reached out to steady her. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I should not have done that.”

  Rowan shuddered at the finality of those few words, at the denial in them. There was unconcealed anguish in his face; his gaze was dark with pain. She reached out to him, but he closed his eyes, turning away to lean on the stone railing, shoulders tense, breathing heavy.

  “I’m sorry, Rowan. I can’t.” His voice was strained.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Torrin. You do them a disservice by continuing to blame yourself.”

  He turned on her suddenly. Rowan took an involuntary step back. His brows knitted together and the lines of his face were set in bitterness and despair. “You don’t understand,” he said hoarsely. “I have lived with the pain of their deaths for seven years. They died because I couldn’t protect them. I go on living because I must, because any other choice would be a coward’s way, but I died the day they were killed. The man I was and the life I had was lost; and it’s only a fraction of the price I should have paid!” Torrin spoke the last words through clenched teeth.

  Rowan wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “No,” she said quietly. “But I understand guilt, Torrin. My father died to save my life. I may not have lost as much and I was only a child, but I do know it was my fault he was killed. He died because I failed to protect myself.”

  Torrin watched her silently. The wounded look in his eyes was replaced by reserved distance.

  “The dead always haunt the living,” Rowan whispered. “My mother told me the hard part is learning to embrace their spirit without losing ourselves. I never really understood this until now. Behind the walls of your grief, the man that you claim is dead still lives. I have seen him, waiting to be released from his prison.”

  More tears spilled down her cheeks as she turned and left the balcony.

  *

  Torrin’s brother found him still standing at the stone balustrade, looking out unseeing into the dusk. They stood in silence for a while.

  “Emma would want you to find love again Tor,” said Nathel finally. “She would have liked Rowan.”

  Torrin sighed. “It’s not Emma. I know she would have wanted my happiness.” He closed his eyes, but the vision of their deaths was still there. “She’s willing to go to death’s door, Nathel. How can you keep a woman like that safe?”

  “She is not like other women. She is a warrior and doesn’t need you to keep her safe. In fact, I know it for truth she would poleaxe any of us who stepped in when she did not need our help.”

  Torrin knew the truth of that, but still couldn’t reconcile it with his fear for her safety.

  “Do you love her, Tor?”

  The question was weighted. Torrin turned to look at Nathel’s earnest face.

  “Sweet Erys help me, I’ve loved her from the moment I first laid eyes on her. But I can’t do it again.”

  “Would it hurt any less if you were to lose her now, without ever telling her how you feel? With the love between you denied?”

  Yes. Yes, it would, surely it would…

  “No.”

  Nathel clasped him on the shoulder, smiling. “Then what truly do you have to lose, brother?”

  Veiled Threats

  The wide wooden table was loaded with glasses and goblets glinting in the candlelight. Empty plates and crumbs littered the boards. The food eaten had been wonderful, though the portions sparse. Rowan popped the last of a savory into her mouth. If Danyl the Great could spin such magic in his kitchen today, what would a banquet be like during a time of plenty?

  A few diners lingered at the tables – one man snored softly, his head down, fingers clutching an empty goblet. Most of the people had cleared the tables and benches out of the way and were gathered at the far end of the great hall, dancing.

  Her eyebrows rising, Rowan watched with amusement as Nathel tried to teach Hathunor to dance, as Borlin and Dalemar offered encouragement. When Hathunor rose to try, he had to gently removed the clinging cargo of children one at a time. They followed him with their little arms reaching up.

  The queen, sitting beside her, leaned over with a smile and pointed at the big Raken. “He has proved a great attraction for the few little ones left in the keep, you know.”

  Rowan grinned, watching the children clamber over Hathunor’s huge form, like explorers upon a spiked mountain. The Saa Raken patiently endured the attention, occasionally lifting one of the children up before his face to look more closely, amusement shining in his red eyes.

  Rowan shook her head as Hathunor tried to follow Nathel’s instructions with little people hanging from his arms. “I don’t think he has ever danced before.”

  “Do you think these are the first human children that he had seen?”

  Rowan looked at the parents that hovered near by, unsure of the Raken with their children but beginning to relax. “It is quite possible, yes.”

  The queen was silent for a while and Rowan turned to find herself being studied closely. “Do you always wear men’s clothing?”

  “In Myris Dar, dresses are worn for formal occasions, but for everyday wear it is a matter of personal preference. Women wear what they wish. For practical reasons, most usually wear breeches, though the styles are different from men’s.”

  Elana drew back, eyes wide, a delighted smile creeping over her beautiful face. “I would one day like to visit your home.”

  “You would be most welcome, your Highness. I would very much enjoy your company.”

  “You must tell me all about it, Rowan. We will get together soon, just the two of us.” Elana turned as Chancellor Galen bent down to speak quietly to her. She nodded and sighed. “I am sorry Rowan, there are duties I must attend to. I do hope you will enjoy the festivities.” The queen nodded towards dancing.

  Rowan stood with the queen and inclined her head as Elana and Galen stepped away from the tables to disappear through the door behind the dais. The king had left a while ago, surrounded by his officers, and Torrin had left as soon as proper etiquette allowed, bowing formally to Cerebus and Elana. Rowan sighed, feeling fresh tears near the surface. It felt like there was even more distance between them now and she was angry with herself for thinking, hoping that Torrin would be able to overcome his past so easily.

  Nathel approached and offered her an arm. “The party is just getting started! Come and dance.”

  “Have you got some Pellarian steps to teach me that are all the rage?” Rowan asked, relieved at the distraction.

  “But of course.”

  Taking his arm, she looked at the revellers as they made their way toward the dancers. “Has Arynilas left too?”

  Nathel nodded. “I sense he is feeling somewhat trapped within the stone walls, surrounded by so many people.”

  �
��I know how he feels.”

  The musicians had just begun a lively reel and Nathel pulled her into the thick of the crowd, spinning her around. Rowan caught her breath as people and bright colours flew by. He exuberantly taught her the footwork for the dance, cracking jokes and making her laugh. Borlin cut in, grinning as he elbowed Nathel aside and swept her around the dance floor with a twinkle in his eyes. They ended up face to face with Dalemar who took a stately turn with her.

  The song ended and Rowan stood panting for breath, a grin plastered on her face as she clapped for the musicians. They began a more subdued song and she turned to find the soldier she had saved on the wall before her. “Will you take a dance w – with me, my lady?”

  “With pleasure, sergeant, is it?”

  He dipped his head and held out his hand. Rowan was acutely aware of her role as ambassador this evening, of representing her island home. “How goes it on the wall?”

  “We are maintaining.” His voice steadied and he spoke now with assurance. “The slings are having better effect now that Commander Torrin has adjusted them.”

  Rowan’s eyebrows rose. Torrin had been advising on the wall.

  The sergeant cleared his throat. “May, may I ask how you learned to wield a sword, my lady?”

  “Please, call me Rowan. I have trained my whole life. All Myrians train to a certain extent. I would be happy to work with you and your men if you would like.”

  The sergeant blushed and stammered out a thanks as the song ended. He bowed and left to return to his friends at the edge of the hall who crowded around him. Rowan sat down at a table to watch the next dance. Leaning back into the chair, she contemplated a hot bath and her bed with longing.

  A figure loomed to her left and Tihir N’Avarin sat down next to her. Even sitting, the stern priest held himself pole-straight.

  “Could I have a moment, my Lady?”

  He was not asking permission. She kept her expression neutral.

  “I must apologize for my scepticism this morning,” he began in a silken voice. “It was not personal, you understand. As a priest of Erys and one of the king’s councillors, I must make certain that I see the world clearly and to that end, I question everything. I do hope that you were not hurt or offended by my remarks. I had no wish to cause harm to so rare a visitor to our Kingdom.”

  Was that an apology? “No offence taken, Master N’Avarin, I would gladly take a rousing theological argument over a battle with a Raken Trieton.”

  N’Avarin blinked, eyes glittering, lips pressed into a thin line. “Well yes, I am sure.”

  Rowan almost regretted her dig – this man could make a powerful enemy.

  “It must be difficult, my Lady Rowan,” the word Lady rang with disdain, “to miss out on the honoured role women have in Eryos.”

  Rowan smoothed her brow before turning to look at him. “What role is that?”

  “Why, Erys made women in her own image, to bring life into this world. That is a woman’s primary role. Like Erys, she is the bringer of life. Men are rightly left to manage the more mundane and onerous tasks.”

  Such as doing what they please and following their own desires.

  “So you believe women should do nothing but bear children?”

  “It is as Erys has shown us,” he said piously.

  The Priests of Erys had found a way to imprison women with the very thing they celebrate in their Goddess. If Erys were here now, what would the Goddess say? In N’Avarin eyes, Rowan represented everything he would take from women to keep them under his control. But there was more to his hatred than religious doctrine – this man was a tyrant who couldn’t rule absolutely so he took a perverse pleasure in stripping away the dignity and rights of others.

  Rowan looked him in the eye. “I must apologize then.”

  “Oh?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “I have not yet had any children and have no interest in assuming a woman’s primary role anytime soon. I do quite enjoy managing the more mundane – was it? – and onerous tasks in this world. Indeed, I am quite good at some of them.”

  Tihir N’Avarin worked to keep his expression calm. “Of course, you are new to these lands and have not been properly educated in our ways,” he said with condescension. “You may find them simple but I assure you the people of Pellar find comfort and peace in them. We take a certain pride in that.”

  “Pride? Master N’Avarin, for certain the people of Pellar are great and noble in the purest sense, but do you truly believe the Goddess would take pride in such restrictions of freedom?” N’Avarin’s eyes narrowed. She was going too far, but didn’t care. “A very wise man I once knew on Myris Dar told me that if the people chose for themselves how they wanted to be educated, they would take further into their hearts what they learned.”

  “Your land sounds very intriguing; perhaps one day the Priesthood will have the good fortune to visit.” The words were spoken with polite precision but the threat was clear.

  “The Island is warded,” she said flatly. “Free thought and speech being one of the primary tenants of my homeland, I’m afraid your Priesthood would be unwelcome in Myris Dar.”

  “The unenlightened often fear the ways of the righteous,” he said quietly.

  Rowan bit back a scathing reply as N’Avarin continued with a practiced patience. “You must have faith in the Goddess. Only she can bring you into the light of her wisdom.”

  Rowan sighed. Her anger left her as quickly as it had come. What he said was true but it was not something he understood beyond his narrow doctrine. “I have faith in myself, Priest,” she said with conviction. “The light of the Goddess is for each of us to understand in our own way. I hope the Priesthood will one day understand that, for the sake of Pellar.”

  N’Avarin’s pious expression flickered for an instant into intense hatred, quickly replaced by something she did not expect – envy.

  He looked up past her shoulder, and his features underwent another rapid transformation, this time into a bland mask of civility. As he got to his feet, Rowan turned to see Nathel, his blue eyes hard.

  “Master Nathel,” said N’Avarin smoothly, “I was just apologizing to Lady Rowan for the tactless ways of a sceptic. She has assured me that she took no offence. It has eased my mind.”

  “The Lady Rowan has a forgiving nature, not the least of her many talents. We are indeed fortunate to have her with us.” His pleasant tone contrasted with the deadly look on his face.

  N’Avarin backed away, but his dark eyes flicked back to her. “It has been a pleasure, Lady Rowan. I look forward to speaking with you further about your charming homeland. Master Nathel.” He spun on his heel and stalked away.

  Nathel scowled at the man’s back.

  “My thanks, I was not enjoying his company,” said Rowan.

  A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “I feared for his health.”

  Rowan frowned. “I think I have just made an enemy.”

  Nathel shook his head and the smirk slipped away. “You are a likely target for him regardless of your actions, but you must take care. The Priesthood of Erys is very powerful here and has say in the king’s court.”

  Rowan nodded. “So I have discovered. Cerebus doesn’t strike me as a man who would endure someone like N’Avarin.”

  “I don’t think he has a choice.” Nathel’s grin slid back onto his face. “Shall we dance?”

  Rowan held up her hands. “I am finished. I will be dancing back to a bath and bed!”

  “Oh, you crush me. We were having so much fun and I think Hathunor has got it now.”

  Rowan laughed. “Goodnight, Nathel!”

  She walked slowly back to her room through the empty halls and corridors – a relief after the noise of the banquet. Her thoughts were chaotic and scattered from the wine. In her room she carefully removed the gown she wore, hung it in the huge wardrobe and sank gratefully into the soft bed, sparing only a thought for her missed bath before sleep came to claim her.

&nb
sp; Intruders

  Rowan woke in the darkness of her quiet room. The twin moons cast a pale light through the open balcony door. Her mind was instantly awake, her muscles tensing. She lay still, listening.

  The balcony door had been closed.

  Carefully, Rowan slid her hand up under the pillows. The cool weight of her dagger was a reassurance. Her bed was in shadow and she climbed silently out to stand with it between her and the windows. Anyone standing in front of them would be in silhouette. She waited, straining to catch a sound.

  The faintest whisper came from the shadows by the balcony doors. Rowan concentrated on the spot. It seemed there was a deeper blackness there. The curtains stirred in the light breeze, shimmering in silvery moonlight. There. The sound again, closer this time, along the wall near the bed.

  A soft scuff came from behind her.

  There were two of them!

  She was grabbed roughly from behind. Rowan twisted violently, slicing with her dagger. A gasp of ragged breath sounded loudly in her ear. She smelled stale wine and tobacco mingled with the stench of body odour. For an instant the grip relaxed and then she was lifted and thrown on the bed. Landing heavily on her back, she immediately rolled, not away from her attacker but towards him. Her fist connected with flesh – something soft. There was a grunt of pain and a thump as knees hit the stone floor.

  Rowan scrambled off the bed, groping along the floor for her sword. It wasn’t where she had left it!

  “Bitch, I’m gonna kill you for that!” The words were husky with pain.

  “We are to take her alive, you fool!” The second voice spoke from the shadow by the balcony.

  “She has a knife!” hissed the voice by the bed.

  Rowan backed towards the door of her room. Light bloomed suddenly in the dark as a lantern was un-hooded to revealing two burly men, raggedly dressed and unshaven. One was crouched by the bed, holding his bleeding forearm. The other moved towards her. “We’re not going to hurt you, lovely, but you have an engagement elsewhere that you are expected to attend.” The man was eyeing her up and down, smiling – she wore only her small clothes.