A War for Truth

by M. Lynn

  “It wasn’t Lonara,” Trystan supplied, suddenly taking a liking to the straight-shooting Lady Yaro. “It was Briggs who used magic. Although in his defense, he was trying to protect us.”

  “Briggs? Briggs Villard?” Lady Yaro’s face lit up. “He is with you as well? Oh my heavens, two Tri-Gard members united? This is glorious news indeed.” She stared around in confusion. “Where is he?”

  Trystan groaned as he and the others all realized the same thing. Briggs wasn’t anywhere in sight. “Good Lord, you left Briggs behind? We need to get back to camp right away before he does something moronic like wander off or use magic again.”

  Lady Yaro’s eyes sparked in amusement. “Briggs Villard and moronic used together in the same sentence? Glad to see some things never change.”

  “Briggs?” Trystan crouched down beside his still sleeping form. “Wake up, you old fool.”

  Alixa walked around to the other side of him and met Trystan’s eye. They’d all had enough of Briggs’ antics on their journey.

  “This isn’t funny, Briggs,” she snapped.

  “Wish we could just leave him,” Rissa mumbled under her breath.

  She wasn’t the first to express the same thought. They didn’t trust the Tri-Gard and for good reason. They were only in this darned mess because of them.

  Trystan reached forward to press his frozen hand against Briggs’ cheek, hoping it’d shock him awake.

  “Briggs.” His eyes darted around as he moved his hand from the old man’s cheek to his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

  Trystan cast a worried glanced back to Lonara, and the woman ran forward.

  “Something’s wrong.” He backed away to make room for Lonara.

  Lonara looked her fellow Tri-Gard member over. “You need to get him to the healer at Cullenspire. Now.” She gestured to the two guards, and they lifted Briggs onto one of the horses.

  Fear spiked in the prince as he took in the pale skin of the man who could help them save the kingdom. What if he didn’t wake?

  “Where are you going?” Trystan gripped Lonara’s arm to stop her as she began readying her own horse.

  She glanced at Briggs draped across the saddle then shifted her eyes to the prince. “I am going to give you time, my prince. One week should be sufficient for Briggs’ magic to fade away. You will be protected at Cullenspire. I will use my magic to create a new trail that veers off from this one. Hopefully the stronger one will lead any followers away while you all regain your strength.” Her eyes flicked to Rissa. “And deal with your new circumstances.”

  “Don’t let Briggs die or we will all follow soon after.”

  “Is it wise to use magic again? They will come after you in droves.”

  Lonara’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “I’m aware, but we have no choice. You need to get to Cullenspire undetected. Trust me, I can look after myself. I will rejoin you when the time is right.”

  Before anyone said another word, she was gone.

  There was nothing left to do but follow her directives. Trystan wasn’t convinced it was the right choice, but Lonara was right. It was the only choice.

  They rode hard, doubling up on the few horses they had. By the time they finally exited the mountains, Alixa could barely manage to stay balanced in the saddle in front of Trystan. His frozen hands steadied her, and she threw a tiny smile of gratitude back over her shoulder. Traveling through the heart of Isenore had not been easy on any of them, but Trystan could only imagine the torturous memories Isenore had dredged up for Alixa. In response to her smile, his arm tightened on her waist and she stiffened in surprise under his touch but didn’t pull away. Instead she glanced back at him with worried eyes.

  “Do you think Lona’s plan will work?”

  His mind drifted to Lonara. He truly hoped it did. He worried for her but if he were being honest with himself, his worry was more so for the rest of them. Lonara had survived in the mountains for years without their help. She could do so again. He just felt they were safer when she was around. If he had to choose to be left alone with her or Briggs, well, the choice was obvious.

  “It will.” He answered back. “Lonara’s right, we need the week to rest and heal. We need to keep the old man alive for this plan to work. Lady Yaro’s healer will know what to do.”

  Trystan hoped he sounded far more convincing to Alixa than he felt.

  The snow fell heavily as the smoke-spewing chimneys of Cullenspire finally came into view. The manor spread below them on a sea of pristine white, the tidy gables of its rooftop making a dark silhouette against the gray evening sky. Lantern light spilled from every window, a welcoming glow against the frigid wind. The stone walls and gates surrounding it offered a sense of security, unlike the barren mountains and forests they’d left behind. Trystan sighed in relief and commented softly over Alixa’s shoulder.

  “After all we’ve been through, is it trivial of me to say I cannot wait to sleep in a real bed again?”

  He heard the laughter in her voice. “Not at all. Know what I’m looking forward to the most? A nice, hot, long leisurely bath.”

  A flushed of heat stained Trystan’s cheeks as the image of Alixa relaxing in a steaming tub filled his mind. This was not the time or place for such foolish thoughts. To cover his unease, he lifted his chin Rissa’s way. His sister rode ahead, her back stiff with anger, ignoring Edric’s attempts to talk to her. Ignoring everyone.

  “Maybe that’s what she needs. A bit of normalcy to bring her back around.”

  Alixa’s gaze shifted to Rissa and her voice filled with sadness. “Give her time to overcome her grief, Trystan.”

  Alixa was right. But time was not a luxury any of them could afford right now. He needed his sister back. But she was nowhere to be found, and Trystan was deathly afraid she might be gone forever.

  A pair of burly soldiers met them as the gates opened, toothless grins indicative of how relieved they were to see their mistress again. Lady Yaro called down to them as they rode by. “We need the healer immediately. If he’s in his bed, wake him.” They moved instantly to do her bidding.

  More servants exited the manor to greet them as they pulled up in front of the oversized, grand doors. Lady Yaro turned to the guard riding with Briggs’ unconscious form. “Take him to the healer’s workshop right away. We will check on him as soon as we are settled.”

  The guard slid down and two other men ran forward to help carry Briggs away.

  Trystan dismounted and helped Alixa do the same before turning to follow the guards and Briggs, but a servant’s message to Lady Yaro stopped him.

  “I’m glad to see you back, Mistress. A visitor arrived from Whitecap this morning. A messenger of Lord Coille. He says it’s important but refused to speak to anyone but you, so he awaits inside under watch.”

  Lord Coille sent a messenger? A cold shiver passed over Trystan and it didn’t have anything to do with the icy wind at their backs. Lady Yaro must have felt the same, for she jumped down and strode anxiously toward the grand house.

  Trystan handed his reins to one of the waiting young stable hands and followed Lady Yaro up the marble steps to the double oak doors without hesitation. She threw them open and swept into the massive hall, pinning a terrified maid with her demanding stare.

  “The messenger who arrived this morning. Where is he?”

  “In… in the study, my lady.”

  With no consideration for their snow-covered boots, Lady Yaro marched over the fine floors and around the corner to the end of the hall. A guard standing outside the door at the end of the corridor came to attention at her presence and opened the door. Lady Yaro paused and glanced back at Trystan.

  “I would appreciate it if you would accompany me, your Highness, as this is surely news of the kingdom, but perhaps we should do this alone?”

  Trystan shook his head. “I hide nothing from my companions, my lady. They are privy to everything. No room for secrets.”

  She tilted her head in acknowledgm
ent of his decision. “As you wish.”

  The young man shot to his feet as soon as they piled into the room, his weary face a testament to his arduous journey. His eyes darted over all of them in puzzlement before finally settling on the older woman. She stepped his way.

  “I am Lady Yaro. My guards tell me you’ve come with a message?”

  “Yes, my lady. But Lord Coille said it was meant for your ears alone….” He trailed off as his attention flitted about the room.

  “No worries, young sir. You are free to speak in front of everyone here.”

  He swallowed hard before nodding and stepping out from behind his chair. He held a wool cap in his hands, which he twisted into a knot of nervousness. Trystan’s stomach knotted in the exact same manner.

  “Something has happened, my lady. Something bad. Lord Coille has received word that King Marcus is dead. Murdered in his own bedchamber by an agent of King Calis.”

  It took Trystan only a moment to track the whispered NO to his pale-faced sister. Her eyes met his, oozing pain and disbelief. Proof of what his mind refused to consider as truth. Trystan should have moved towards her. He should have offered her his strength, but in that moment, he wasn’t sure he had an ounce of strength left. The words ricocheted through his mind, refusing to grab hold.

  His head shook of its own accord. His father was the grandest man he’d ever known. He couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t possible.

  Rissa turned and ran from the room, from him, the silence left behind echoing with her footsteps.

  “Ri,” he whispered in dismay as the pain stabbed into him. His father was gone. The man he’d looked up to his entire life. The man who’d felt like he’d always be there to guide him, to protect him, to love him.

  You are to be a symbol of hope.

  He’d said those words, changing Trystan’s entire world. He wasn’t just a protector of his people’s lives, but of their very souls. But who would protect his now that his father was gone?

  Dead.

  Forever.

  Just like Davion.

  Just like his mother.

  A single tear tracked down his face as he lifted his eyes to the grieving subjects who waited in anticipation for his reaction. Avery stepped up beside him, her head bowed and her face damp.

  “Murdered in his bedroom.” Anger tainted her words. “He deserved better.”

  Trystan didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone as he paced further into the room. “He deserved to die of old age with my mother still by his side. But none of us get what we deserve. We take what Calis Bearne gives us.” An unexpected wave of rage exploded in his heart, ripping through his body like jagged lightning. He lashed out at the nearest object, a footstool that careened into the wall and shattered into a thousand splinters. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

  Running his hands over his face, he breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm himself down. The others didn’t need to see this loss of control. Reining in his anger, he dropped his hands, expecting to be met with gazes of shock or fear. Instead, he watched in puzzlement as Avery went down on one knee.

  “And I will be by your side, your Majesty. For King Marcus and the people he loved.”

  Your Majesty. The title sounded foreign. It wasn’t supposed to be his. Not yet.

  When Edric, Lady Yaro, and Alixa also kneeled, he wanted to tell them to rise, but the gesture rooted him in place. As much as his heart craved revenge, as much as he desired to spill Calis’ blood, he realized one thing. It wasn’t only about him and the dark king anymore. It was about each and every person who’d been affected.

  And he was now their king.

  A chilling chant fell from their lips.

  “The King is dead. Long live King Trystan.”

  Chapter 3

  Lost. There was no other word to describe the feeling brewing inside Davion. He was utterly lost. It wasn’t just the empty spaces in his mind where the memories from the last fifteen years should reside; it was his very soul. Nothing was right.

  He looked around at the stone halls that were supposed to be his home, but he felt nothing but the cold. He kept his head down as he hurried along the corridor, realizing he wasn’t just lost in spirit. He was actually physically lost.

  “Dammit,” he groaned. “Not again.” Losing his way had become a daily occurrence. He refused to be confined to his rooms as his father suggested. His father. He shook his head. He barely knew the man. They had a blood bond, surely that should be enough. Memories returned in pieces. Every time he met with his father, the sorcerer was with him. But then again, they were all sorcerers in Dreach-Dhoun. Had Davi ever used magic before losing his memories? As a prisoner in Dreach-Sciene, he wouldn’t have been able to. Ramsey, the man who seemed to enjoy rooting around in his mind, told him stories of his time in captivity. They’d been watching him somehow. Blood magic. He didn’t understand any of it.

  As he ran his fingers along the smooth stone of the wall, he released a sigh. How long would it be until he remembered? Why had he forgotten? That had never been fully explained, and it only deepened his confusion. He knew the prince of Dreach-Sciene had something to do with it.

  His legs collided with something soft and a rough bark rang in the air. When he looked down, the wide snout of a very large dog confronted him. He jumped back instinctively, but the dog followed his movement and lunged for him. He sidestepped him, preparing for the teeth still coming his way.

  “Hey,” he yelled at the dog. “Hey, stop. Do you hear me? I don’t taste nearly as good as you think I do.”

  The dog didn’t listen and soft laughter joined the dog’s aggressive growls. Davi jerked his eyes up to find his cousin, Lorelai, standing in a doorway. She held a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughs.

  “I’m about to die and you find it funny?” He looked back to the dog that had gotten closer. The dog lunged again and Davi wasn’t quick enough. Before he knew what was happening, a warm tongue slid across his hand. “What the…?”

  “Cousin.” Lorelai was still laughing. “Meet Deor.” She gestured to the dog that was jumping to put his paws on Davi’s chest. Davi stumbled back from the sheer weight as the wet tongue slid across his face.

  “Ugh.” Davi turned his head. “I know it’s hard to resist my good looks, but I think he’s trying to kiss me.” He laughed and pushed the dog away.

  Lorelai stepped forward and for the first time, he noticed she wasn’t alone. A slightly older woman stood next to her with the same white-blonde hair. Instead of Lorelai’s bright eyes, the other woman’s were vacant. She didn’t look at him.

  “I think that’s the first smile I’ve seen from you, Davi.” Lorelai reached out her hand to scratch Deor behind the ears.

  His lips turned down. For just a moment, he’d forgotten he didn’t even know who he was. “You haven’t exactly been a ray of sunshine either.”

  She crouched down to pet Deor, but he suspected it was so she didn’t have to meet his eyes.

  Something haunted her, but she was a stranger to him. What right did he have to ask?

  Footsteps echoed across the high ceilings as a young girl sprinted toward them. The boys clothing she wore hung off her skinny frame. Her face was dirty and red hair hung down her back. Something sparked in Davi’s mind. A memory? He couldn’t pull it forth, but warmth filled him.

  The girl skidded to a stop in front of him and dipped into an awkward curtsy. “Your Highness.” She couldn’t have been more than ten.

  It took him a moment to realize she meant him. The girl looked in uncertainty at Lorelai. Davi was the Prince of Dreach-Dhoun. He had to remind himself of that every time someone bowed. The title was hollow, but the people were so happy to have their lost prince returned, he couldn’t ask them to stop.

  “Hello,” he said slowly.

  “I’m so sorry, milord,” the girl said. “One of the boys was playing with Deor and left the door open. The king says he isn’t supposed to be inside the palace, but I
swear it ain’t my fault. And he ain’t even that dirty.” Her voice wavered, the fear showing on her face.

  Lorelai stepped forward to whisper in his ear. “If your father finds out, he’ll give her a lashing with his magic.”

  Davi crouched down to look into her face. He put a hand on each shoulder. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  Her lip quivered. “Tessa.”

  “Tessa, how about we keep Deor’s little trip as our secret?”

  Her eyes lit up and Davi winked.

  Her mouth curved into a smirk. “Okay, Prince. I won’t tell a soul that you let the dog into the palace.”

  She flashed him a smile as she wrapped her little fingers around Deor’s collar and tugged him after her. He followed willingly, clearly in love with his little friend.

  Davi shook his head.

  “It’s nice to have you in the palace, Davi.” Lorelai gripped his arm. “I know it’s hard for you after everything you’ve been through.” Her eyes shifted away as they’d been doing every time his memory was brought up in her presence. What was she thinking?

  Dark thoughts once again worked their way into his mind.

  She wasn’t finished. “You’re kind. It’s… a nice change.”

  Was he kind? How could he remain kind or even sane after fifteen years as a prisoner? The answer: there was no possible way. The sudden urge to hit something had him turning away. Lorelai touched his arm again. The sad thing was, he didn’t want her to release him. It was the only affection he could remember in the empty brain of his, and it made him feel slightly less adrift.

  Why couldn’t he remember any of his time away? His father told him he’d been injured, but it would return.

  He turned back to face her once again.

  “You’re home now,” she said softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Is it? Because you’ve been home, cousin, and I still see the shadows in your eyes.”

  She released his arm and ran a hand over the pale skin of her face.