by Ellyn, Court
“Don’t try to belittle this, Kieryn,” she demanded, pushing his hand away. “Governing more territory is the least of my problems. We can’t have two successive sovereigns without heirs, and if I do inherit Aralorr, Rorin and every other suitor can go straight to the Abyss.”
A stinging reminder of Kieryn’s status. He was not a potential. He was safe. “I’m not belittling the problem when I say you’re worrying for nothing.” She broke off the path she was wearing into the rug and faced him. “Rhorek and my father would have to die first, and Da won’t let that happen.” His good hand touched her cheek, smooth and warm as a babe’s. “It’s good to think ahead. But not too far.”
Her chin quavered. “I don’t like being afraid, Kieryn.”
“Do you think you would be ruling alone, that you wouldn’t have help, that I would let anyone hurt you?” He felt that feral creature surface for an instant. Then Rhoslyn’s arms were snug about him, her face nuzzling, hiding against his throat, and he was falling, helpless and falling, though his feet were still planted on the rug.
“Maybe,” she murmured, “maybe if you came back to Windhaven with me, I wouldn’t be afraid anymore.”
Kieryn’s arms must’ve tensed, for Rhoslyn pulled free. “I shouldn’t have said that. You wouldn’t be going to Windhaven for me.” Backing away, she folded her hands formally and straightened her shoulders. She might’ve been looking on Rhorek or Rorin or Erum or anyone else. “I must learn to be strong on my own,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I can be, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”
The façade she’d donned crumbled, but gracefully. “Why is that?” she asked, smiling through tears.
Because I’m safe, he almost said. Because I love you without your title, he wanted to say. She sniffled, and Kieryn cursed himself for lack of a kerchief. He extended his sleeve instead.
She regarded him strangely and laughed. “You did that once before. Do you remember?”
Just as Rhoslyn finished her story and dabbed her eyes on Kieryn’s sleeve, Kelyn entered the chamber—again uninvited. He whipped out a kerchief and bowed. Rhoslyn refused with a gentle push to his hand. “Save it for one of your others,” she said. Her smile was brutal. Kelyn almost blushed.
“I was just reminding Kieryn of a wound you dealt me,” she said.
“A wound?” Kelyn echoed, lost.
She tilted back her head, revealing an inch-long scar, not unlike Etivva’s, under her chin.
“I didn’t do that,” Kelyn insisted.
“Oh, yes, you did. And don’t tell me I confused you with your twin here. I know you, from those childhood days. You were a little savage, and merciless. It was in the garden at Bramoran Royal, and you and I were fighting—I was tired of you throwing crickets at me, I believe. I took after you and cornered you among the rose bushes, and you flicked a branch at me, and it caught me just here, and I bled all down my white summer frock. I know it was you, because Kieryn was the perfect gentleman and lent me the use of his sleeve.”
“If he was a perfect gentleman,” Kelyn said, “he wouldn’t have been without a kerchief.”
“You never did apologize. Even when your father commanded you.”
Kelyn grinned. His eyes were not on Rhoslyn’s face; the bust-line of her gown was just short of baring her shoulders. “Then I apologize now, though likely you had insulted me and deserved it.”
Rhoslyn laughed. “Likely.”
Kieryn watched the exchange with increasing alarm. Kelyn dared to flirt with Rhoslyn in his presence. His eyes were all mischief and approval, as if Rhoslyn were a laundry maid to be won, shagged, and forgotten. Worse, Rhoslyn played along, even incited it. She hadn’t needed to make that initial demeaning comment or retell her story. Two of a kind, indeed. Kieryn fumed. “Kelyn,” he shouted. Go sniff out someone else. “Did you barge in here for a specific reason?”
Kelyn’s expression sobered. “Well, no. Etivva wanted to know more, so I told her, then I didn’t know where you’d gone.” He shrugged. “The rain’s stopped. Want to go for a ride? I need to escape this stifling place for once. You ought to understand. The Duchess is invited, of course.”
~~~~
The doings of the Black Falcon’s newly appointed heir were suddenly everyone’s business. When Rhoslyn appeared in the corridor wearing her elk-skin breeches, knowledge of her proposed outing reached the gatehouse before she did. Captain Maegeth and Lieutenant Lissah had a five-man escort waiting for her.
“My lady, I advise you to stay within the walls,” the lieutenant said. “But if you insist—”
“I insist,” she snapped. As much as Kieryn pitied her, he was wretchedly glad that she was now the object of attention. With Kelyn and Rhoslyn at his side, Kieryn’s first appearance after terrifying the masses had gone smoother than he’d expected. Davhin of Vonmora had bowed to Rhoslyn as she passed, but his eyes had been on Kieryn; Princess Mazél had given him a tight-lipped nod; servants stared and whispered. Feared. Rhoslyn was right.
Now he stayed to the shadow of the stables while the grooms saddled their mounts and Rhoslyn argued over the escort with the two women in chain-mail.
“There may yet be assassins lurking about,” Maegeth said, “and there’s always greedy highwayman abroad.”
“We’re not taking the road,” Rhoslyn retorted. “And the assassins attacked my cousin inside the walls as well as without. I’ll be as safe in the meadows as in my chambers.”
Maegeth’s black eyes became stern. “Then I’ve the right to act on my authority and shut the gates, Your Ladyship.”
“Captain,” intervened Kelyn, “I’ll just have the gates opened again. The ride was my idea.”
Maegeth was unmoved. Lieutenant Lissah ordered the escort to mount up. Three were of the castle garrison. Two were Falcon Guardsmen on blue roans. “I believe your father would agree with me on this one, m’ lord,” said Maegeth. “You go with an escort or you don’t go.”
Rhoslyn surrendered. “I’ll allow the three of your garrison, Captain. But the Falcons stay here. They guard the sovereign. I am not the sovereign, nor will I be. Besides,” she added, aiming a smirk at the twins, “I’ve a knight-to-be and an avedra guarding my back.”
Having won free of the castle’s confines, Kieryn, Kelyn, and Rhoslyn veered off the roadway that descended to the ford and rode under the east wall, bound for open pasture. The three guards followed, armed with swords and crossbows, but after receiving a truculent glare from Rhoslyn, they stayed well back.
“Ilswythe is far older than Windhaven, isn’t it?” asked Rhoslyn, gazing up the height of gray walls encrusted with yellow and white lichen and chinked with moss. Incongruent with the dressed basalt blocks, long white boulders formed the foundation of the walls. “Is there some reason for these stones?” she asked.
To the twins, the oblong boulders were as common as every other beam, tile, and stone that made up the shell of their home. Rhoslyn’s curiosity caused Kieryn to look at them as if for the first time, but Kelyn said, “They’re just stones.”
“Fantastic answer,” Kieryn criticized. “There are ten of them all together. But the walls are so ancient that no one remembers where the stones came from or why they were used. The villagers call them enchanted—” When he broke off, Kelyn and Rhoslyn looked round at him, at his hand wrapped in linen. There was nowhere to hide it now. To their credit, neither said a word. But their silence hurt almost as much as the stares.
Kelyn took the lead, cantering across the archery range toward the great bend in the river. Just like every Aralorri cavalryman, the twins rode dappled grays. A couple of years before, Kelyn said he was done with geldings. If he was to be a knight, he needed to learn how to handle stallions, so Da had given him Chaya. Kieryn rode the same mare he’d ridden for years; Diorval was a mother of stallions, but was herself as mild and even-tempered as a spring morning. Rhoslyn’s spirited golden filly must’ve been imported from Harena at gre
at expense.
Reaching the banks, they rode against the Avidan’s flow. Above the ford, the waters tumbled white over smooth shelves of black rock. The saw-toothed profile of the Drakhan Range filled the entire east; the high snows glared in the afternoon sun. To the north, the granite spire of Mount Drenéleth had been overtaken by storm clouds. Thick sheets of gray rain swept the spire’s lower flanks, but in the meadows below, sunlight sparkled in the raindrops clinging to the tall grass, transforming the sodden hills into a universe of tiny suns. Indigo swallows reeled over the last of the smooth waters, snatching at insects stirred up by the storm.
Kieryn brought Diorval to a halt and watched the swallows race and dive. Once, he had believed he could speak to birds. He closed his eyes, listening. But the wind carried only shrill chirps and melodies. What nonsense. Overactive mind, indeed. Diorval shifted restlessly beneath him. “Well, you speak clearly enough, old girl.” He patted her neck, and she hurried to catch up with her companions. Who needs words to understand an animal’s simple language? Perhaps that’s just it! How would birds’ notes be translated into human language anyway?
“By Ana!” exclaimed Kelyn, throwing a hand over his nose. “Drowned elk.” Rhoslyn and Kieryn peered over the bank and found the swollen corpse lying head down near the water.
Their escort hurried to join them. “Young cow,” one said.
“Did it rain so much last night?” Kieryn asked. Drugged on silverthorn and other pain killers, he might’ve slept through a stampede of dragons.
“We didn’t get rain till this morning,” Kelyn said. “But it probably rained all night in the peaks.” The reeds lying flat along the banks attested to high, fast-rolling waters.
“Poor thing,” Rhoslyn said.
“Woulda made good eats,” said another of the escort, “had we found it earlier.”
Rhoslyn looked sick and wroth. “Let us go. Quickly.” To the twins, she suggested, “Let’s race.”
“You challenge the champion?” asked Kelyn. Acceptance was a mischievous glint in his eye.
“You’re not riding Brandrith now. It might be a fair contest. Rajika here? Her sires raced across desert sand, you know.”
“Ha! Then she’s out of her element. Where to?”
Rhoslyn searched the skyline and pointed, “North. That stand of trees atop the far hill.”
“Are you up for it, brother?”
In answer, Kieryn dug his heels into Diorval’s flanks.
“Damn cheater,” Kelyn cried, and he and Rhoslyn tore off in pursuit.
Kieryn’s grip on the reins sent fire scorching along every nerve of his arm, but he urged Diorval on. Her long legs pounded out the distance, clearing a path through the tall grass and sending up flights of quail. Kieryn knew only the roar of the wind, the blurred green, and the fast approaching andyr and maple. He might’ve been a falcon, tireless and without fear, racing low for the joy of it, relishing his own strength and speed.
Diorval began up the last hill, and Kieryn hauled back on the reins. Kelyn and Rhoslyn sped past. Then Kelyn, too, slowed and allowed Rhoslyn to claim the shade of the trees.
She rounded on them, panting, and exclaimed, “Curse you both to the Abyss! I might not have beaten the cheater there, but I might’ve beaten you, Kelyn.”
“The lords of Ilswythe are wise, m’ lady,” Kelyn replied, smirking. “We do not claim victory over one of superior social status.”
“Well put,” Kieryn agreed.
“Oh, bah! If you’re going to let me win, at least do it inconspicuously.”
The riders let their horses roam freely to feed on the lush grass; the escort, once it caught up, kept to the base of the hill, though in the gentle warmth of late day, the three men began to look drowsy. World of good they would do against silver thieves and the occasional stray snow cat.
Rhoslyn soon fell asleep in the shade of a young maple. On the sunny slope, the twins reclined on their elbows. After the stares and whispers and humiliations he’d suffered, the sweet scent of sun in the wild grass refreshed Kieryn’s spirits. The Avidan curved like a vast silver scythe, the blade tapering away into the gold western haze. Sheltered in its crook, the small gray outpost of Ilswythe bobbed on the sea of meadows. Even from this distance, Kieryn could make out the white stones at the base of the curtain wall, the fat round towers of the Northwest Gatehouse, the trodden muddy oval of the racecourse. Ilswythe was in miniature, as if someone had shaped a replica in clay and stone, and for a few moments Kieryn’s troubles seemed to have diminished, too. The assassins were merely a nightmare, and war was found only in history pages.
The stinging edge of the burn, however, dulled the sharpness of the sunlight, and his brother’s sullenness took the sweetness out of the wind. Kelyn stared at the toes of his riding boots. Introspection was rare for him, made him look more like Da.
“Homesick already?” Kieryn asked. He had hoped to lighten Kelyn’s mood, but he frowned the deeper and said nothing.
“Maybe the war won’t last more than a few weeks. Da will put a quick end to Shadryk. You won’t be gone long.”
“You don’t know that.” Implied, I may not come back at all. He sat up, locked his wrists about his ankles. “I want to go. I need to prove myself. Am I really as good as everyone says? All of a sudden, hearing I’m good doesn’t matter.”
“It’s strange,” Kieryn mused. “Strange I won’t be going with you. We’ve never gone anywhere, done anything, without each other.”
Kelyn glanced around sharply. He must’ve assumed Kieryn would accompany their father as a squire. Somewhere over the drone of the cataracts, a hunting falcon cried, and for the twins everything fell into perspective. They were still boys, sheltered by home and by each other. This was the jumping point. They flew or fell. Alone.
“Will you go to Windhaven,” Kelyn asked, “to this avedra of Harac’s?”
Kieryn peered over his shoulder and in the deepening shade Rhoslyn still napped, knees drawn up, her hair loosened during the race, a golden pool beneath her cheek. “Etivva thinks I ought to go, but I haven’t spoken to Mum or Da.”
“You know what they’ll say. Don’t let them make this decision for you. You’re their son, not their child.”
Kieryn grinned as his own words were thrown back in his face. The sun stooped low over the western meadows and painted the snowy peaks of the Drakhans the pink of Rhoslyn’s fingernails. Kieryn didn’t care if he ever rode back, but Kelyn said, “We should gather the horses. We don’t want to be missed at supper.” He climbed to his feet, and Kieryn reluctantly did the same. Two of the three guards were asleep; the third saw the twins rise and nudged his comrades. “Whether you like it or not,” Kelyn added, dusting grass off his rear, “you’ve proven yourself hale enough to dine with us.”
Kieryn scowled.
“If you fail to show, everyone will take it as an insult, especially the king.”
Kieryn unleashed his disgust. “You fetch the horses. I’ll wake the Duchess.”
“Figures,” Kelyn groused and descended the hill.
They took their time in returning, ambling along the same path beside the river. Their respite from the crowds in the castle made them kinder toward the guards, and they didn’t try to outrun them. The men seemed more eager to get back to the gates, their mess hour might’ve come and gone, and one of the men trotted ahead to urge the highborns on. Soft notes came from Kieryn’s left. Rhoslyn hummed absently in the deepening dusk. When she caught him listening, she smiled and sang aloud:
“Down she dove ‘neath the indigo main.
Stoven keel and broken mast
Took wind and sailed the last dark lane,
And from her arms she her captain cast.
Roll on, roll on, mighty wave!
Embrace the hulls and hearts you stave.
Lost on the tossing purple sea
He cries for the leeward shore.
To silver moon he lifts his plea,
His prayer drowned in the bill
ow’s roar.
Roll on, roll on, merc’less wave!
Embrace the hulls and hearts you stave.
The lover tossed a new love found
And slept in the seamaid’s arms.
He in her golden hair she bound,
He kissed her long and breathed her charms.
Roll on, roll on, restful wave!
Embrace the hulls and hearts you stave.”
They drew near the place where the drowned elk lay and prepared to veer away from the assault of dead flesh, but the stench never reached them. The guard in the lead looked up and down the banks, then announced, “Hmm, it’s gone.”
“Thank the Mother,” Rhoslyn said, turning her filly away, and the brothers followed.
Without warning, all six horses shied and bolted from the bank. One of the guards lost his seat and hit the ground with a breathless thud; another caught the horse by the bridle before it could escape to the fortress. The strain of keeping Diorval under control sent a lash of pain through Kieryn’s fingers.
“What in the name of … ,” Kelyn exclaimed, swinging Chaya’s head around. Rhoslyn patted her filly’s shoulder, but the animal seemed none the happier. The ears of the six mounts laid flat to their skulls, eyes white with fear, hooves stamping nervously. “Wolves, do you think?”
“Winter wasn’t that bad, m’ lord,” said a guardsman. “Why should wolves venture so far from the foothills for that bit of carrion?”
“Wanted the meat yourself, did ya?” jested his comrade, climbing gingerly back into the saddle.
Kelyn snickered with the guards, but Kieryn said, “We would’ve seen wolves from the hill.” His eyes might’ve been arrows, notched and aimed at the guards. “We weren’t sleeping.” Their humor died with that. Moreover, wolves would’ve eaten the body where they found it, but there was no blood, no scattered remains.
