A War for Truth

by M. Lynn

Trystan’s gaze drifted over the people between him and the duke. His nobles. The ones who’d had their king die and thought his children dead along with him.

  Did they know the mission he’d been sent on? Or how empty handed he was in returning? That he’d failed to do anything but get Davi killed?

  He strode into the room slowly before stopping beside his sister. “With all due respect, my lord, Whitecap is not my home. My home has been stolen from me.”

  Lady Destan got to her feet and stepped around Lord Coille. “Not for long.” Her voice thickened as her eyes scanned the other faces. “Our king has returned.”

  One by one, they stood. Lady Destan faced Rissa. A smile touched her lips, and a tear broke free of her eye. “Thank the earth you two have returned.” She pulled Rissa into a tight hug as Lord Coille gripped Trystan roughly.

  “We’ve failed you, Trystan.” His voice was rough. “Your uncle sits on your throne.”

  Once again, Trystan took in the nobles who’d stayed after the ceremony to prepare to fight for Dreach-Sciene.

  Trystan gripped the Duke’s shoulder. “No, my lord. You’ve lost the throne, but not Dreach-Sciene. My kingdom is a people, not a palace.”

  Lord Coille closed his eyes and released a breath as if he’d been holding it since the day his king died. “That’s something your father would have said.”

  “My father was a great king.”

  “He was. And an even better friend. I’m so sorry, Trystan.”

  Trystan shook his head. Every time he thought he was past his father’s death, it hit him with the force of a battering ram. Maybe if he’d been there, his father would still be king and none of this would be happening.

  But then they’d be no closer to restoring their magic.

  “There will be much time for talk.” Lord Coille’s eyes found something near the doorway and narrowed. “Guards!”

  Trystan followed his gaze to Alixa. He tried to stop him but Lord Coille sprinted to the door. “Guards. Alixa Eisner, you are under arrest for treason against Dreach-Sciene.”

  Alixa backed up but two guards grabbed her arms.

  “Stop,” Trystan yelled. No one heard him through the pandemonium.

  Trystan pushed through the nobles blocking his way to find Alixa kicking and struggling. “Trystan,” she screamed.

  Rion ran up to Lord Coille and whispered to him furiously, pointing toward Alixa. Lord Coille’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t order his guards to stop.

  A roar ripped through Trystan. “I order you, as King of Dreach-Sciene, to unhand the woman.” He pulled his sword free. “I will cut off any part of you that is still touching her in three seconds.”

  When no one moved, Trystan swung, deliberately missing the guards, but close enough to cause them to lurch out of the way. Alixa stumbled and Trystan caught her. “I got you,” he whispered.

  Her body shook as she leaned into him, her face a mask of anger.

  “Trystan,” Lord Coille snapped. No ‘your Majesty’ or ‘my King’ this time. “Put that bloody sword away and come with me.”

  He kept an arm protectively around Alixa as he followed Lord Coille from the room, leaving the panicked people behind.

  Rissa stepped up beside him. “That was brilliant.” She shot him a smile. A true, honest to God smile. The kind he rarely saw from her anymore.

  Lady Destan met them at the door to the council chambers and leaned in. “I quite enjoyed that.” She laughed fondly.

  Rissa yawned.

  “Are you okay, princess?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had much of a rest.”

  “It’s going to be a long night for Trystan, but the rest of you should eat and sleep.” She waved Willow over. “Would you show Rissa and Alixa and the rest of their company to adequate rooms?”

  Trystan glanced over his shoulder. They had yet to introduce the others. Avery, Edric, and Briggs hadn’t entered the council room with Trystan and Rissa, but they followed at a close distance now. It was probably best that Briggs’ presence only be known by a few.

  To his surprise, Rissa went willingly and even Alixa failed to put up a fight, leaving Trystan alone with Lord Coille and Lady Destan.

  The door shut with a definitive slam and Lord Coille spun. “I’m assuming you have a reason for protecting Alixa Eisner.”

  Trystan ran a hand over his tired eyes. “Did Rion tell you how she came to join us?”

  “He told a tale of her escaping her father, but I thought you’d inherited your father’s brains, boy. The Eisners are not to be trusted. Royce Eisner is right this very moment—”

  “Advising Drake?” Trystan cut in. “I came to that conclusion myself.”

  Lady Destan pulled out a chair and dropped into it gracefully. She folded her hands in her lap. “You forget yourself, Adrian. Remember to whom you speak.”

  The Duke sighed. “You’re right. I am sorry, your Majesty.” A wry smile appeared on his lips. “Sometimes it is hard to see those you watched as children as anything else. To me, you’re still the boy who’d run through the palace with little Davion pretending to be knights while tracking mud along the halls.”

  Trystan fell into a chair and put his head in his hands, exhaustion and sadness winning out over decorum.

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through since leaving the palace, Trystan, so I don’t want to tell you to be careful. You already know that.”

  “Davi,” he whispered. “That’s what we’ve been through. Davi is dead.”

  Lady Destan closed her eyes. “That boy…”

  “I’m sorry.” Lord Coille clutched his shoulder.

  Trystan lifted his head. “You aren’t aware of everything that’s happened and I’ll tell you some of it. But you need to trust me when I tell you Alixa Eisner is on our side.”

  They both nodded. Lord Coille gave him a final pat before taking a seat. “When Drake announced your death and Rissa’s, the soul was ripped right from Dreach-Sciene. I think I stopped breathing when you walked through that door.”

  Trystan met his stare. “The Renaulds aren’t this kingdom’s soul. Magic is. Or it was.”

  Lord Coille raised a brow. “Soon after you left, your father told me you weren’t sure you believed in magic.”

  “I didn’t. But I trusted my father.”

  “What changed?” Lady Destan asked. “Why do you believe now?”

  He paused for a moment, considering the impact of his next words. “We found Briggs Villard.”

  A smile crept across her face.

  “The old man is here?” Lord Coille asked.

  Trystan nodded. “And Lonara Stone won’t be far behind us.”

  Lord Coille released a laugh and looked to the ceiling in relief. “It seems we aren’t as hopeless as we thought.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Lady Destan smiled. “We were never hopeless. Not while Trystan was out there fighting for us.”

  “We thought he was dead.”

  “Correction, you thought he was dead. Some of us had more faith than to trust the word of a spineless man like Drake.”

  “That’s why you’re here.” Trystan ended their bickering as he glanced between them. “You’re not in Sona. There has to be a reason. What are you planning?”

  Lord Coille grunted and Lady Destan let out a laugh. “As perceptive as Marcus always was.” She bit her lip, considering him. “There will come a time when the Tri-Gard is the most important tool for our survival, but before we look to our enemies across the border, we must first deal with those who are tearing our kingdom apart.”

  Lord Coille’s face lit up. “Briggs. He can end this right now. We take him to the palace and he uses his magic. Drake won’t stand a chance.”

  “No.” Trystan’s harsh tone caused them both to jump. “The armies under Drake’s command were some of my father’s soldiers. I won’t use magic against our own people.”

  Lord Coille deflated.

  Lady Destan stood and bru
shed off her skirt. “Nothing will change by morning.” A knock sounded on the door and Willow poked her head in. “Perfect timing. Trystan needs to be shown to a room before he collapses right here.”

  Trystan opened his mouth to protest. It had been a long day, but there was still so much to discuss. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him and he sighed. “Okay.”

  Lady Destan led him to the door. “It’s still hard to believe you’re here, Trystan, but now that you are, we have work to do.”

  “My uncle won’t be allowed to rule.” He gripped the doorway, his knuckles turning white. “We always knew Calis Bearne would come, but I never imagined fighting my own people.” He hung his head and followed Willow. His eyes drifted to her slight frame, her perfect skin. So familiar, yet it seemed like another lifetime growing up with her.

  When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I’m glad you’ve come back to us, Trystan.”

  He smiled at her honesty, but his eyes caught on her hands rubbing together nervously.

  “Are you okay, Willow?”

  She stopped in the middle of the hall. “I don’t want to marry you,” she blurted.

  “What?”

  She turned and paced the length of the hall before returning. A servant passed but gave them a wide berth. “I thought I wanted it, but I didn’t understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  Her shoulders tensed. “I don’t want to hurt you. We’ve known each other for so long and you wanted this.”

  He held in a laugh. As far as he knew, she was the one who’d pushed for a betrothal.

  “You chose me and I’m flattered,” she continued. “But, Trystan, I don’t love you.” She exhaled heavily. “There may have been a crush once upon a time, but…”

  “My death got you out of the betrothal.” This time he didn’t hold back his laugh.

  She huffed and red crept up her pale neck. “I didn’t want you to be dead and my heart soared when I saw you in that hall, but I don’t love you as anything more than my friend and my king.”

  Trystan hid his smile behind a cough. He’d never seen Willow flustered, and it worked for her much better than her usual shy mousiness.

  When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “After Lord Drake announced your death, father promised I could choose my husband, but now…”

  “Willow.” He put a hand on each shoulder to stop her fidgeting and met her eyes. “Our betrothal was never made formal. Even if your father insists, I’ll deny you.”

  “No,” she gasped. “Can you imagine my reputation?”

  A laugh burst free of him. “What do you want from me? You don’t want to marry me, and despite what you think, I don’t want to marry you either. Yet, I can’t refuse you?” He released her. “Trust me, your father has bigger things to worry about.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who is it?”

  “What?” she stumbled back.

  “If you’re this adamant, you obviously have a husband in mind.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “His name is Rion. He’s a guard.”

  “Rion?” Trystan grinned. “You love him?”

  “More than anything.”

  “He’s a good man. If your father pushes, don’t take no for an answer.”

  Her jaw dropped open. “You want me to disobey him?”

  “Willow, I’m going to tell you something I wish someone had told both me and my sister. The only person who has to live your life is you. No matter who you are—whether it’s the nobleman’s daughter, the prince, or even the penniless guard, you deserve good things.”

  The edges of her mouth curled up, and she stretched up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. When she spoke, her breath was warm on his skin. “And that is why we will follow you into the very wastelands of Dreach-Dhoun.” She stepped back and dropped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

  “Goodnight, Willow.”

  She hurried back down the hall and he turned toward his room, seeing the open door next to his for the first time. Alixa’s golden eyes peered out at him, her lip wedged between her teeth.

  “Did you just hear all of that?” he asked.

  She opened her door wider and stepped out with a tiny nod. She’d been given a silk gown to sleep in, pale against her dark skin. Her chocolate hair fell about her shoulders in waves.

  She stepped closer, one bare foot peeking out from the bottom of the nightgown.

  “What you said to her.” She reached for the front of his jacket and pulled him against her.

  He gripped her hips and lost himself in her gaze.

  “I refused to see it when I first met you,” she whispered.

  “Didn’t see what?”

  “You’re a good man, Trystan.” She reached up and brushed her lips across his gently.

  She leaned away, and he missed her kiss instantly. He brushed a fingertip down her soft cheek. “What was that for?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  She shivered as he traced the outline of her ear. “You stood up for me today. And at Cullenspire. I’ve never had anyone who…”

  He placed a finger across her lips to cut her off. “I don’t know how many times we have to tell you this, but you’re one of us now, Alixa. I don’t care what anyone says, you aren’t simply a traitor’s daughter. You’re brave and kind—”

  She snorted.

  “You are. You know what you aren’t?”

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Alone. Not anymore. You have a family who will fight for you, protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection.”

  He smiled. “Everyone needs protection sometimes, but you’re right. You can stand on your own. You’ve done it many times. Just know you don’t have to.”

  She wrapped her arms around his back and pressed her face to his chest. “Thank you.”

  He rested his chin on her head. “You’ve done far more for me than I ever have for you. All of you have. You. Ri. Avery. Da—” He clamped his lips shut and squeezed her tighter.

  “I think you’re crushing me.” Her words snapped the tension, and he released her. “Sleep well, Trystan. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  He entered his room and closed the door. Food sat on a tray next to a pitcher, but he had no desire to eat.

  Instead, he cleaned up and changed before collapsing into bed. Dreach-Sciene would soon know their king had returned. Their true king.

  Chapter 13

  By the time morning came, Trystan’s mind whirled with everything that must be done. Somehow, he’d have to get to the palace and face his uncle. Could he challenge him to a duel? Would Drake accept?

  No. That would be too honorable, risking himself rather than his people.

  But war? Trystan rubbed his throbbing temples. War was unacceptable. At least among his own people. They could fight, but for what? A throne that would sit empty as soon as Trystan needed to leave again? He had to face the truth. The mission to find Ramsey Kane couldn’t be postponed.

  How was he supposed to lead his people from enemy territory?

  But Drake must not be allowed to hold the throne either. If what Alixa said was true and her brother was with the pretend king, Lord Drake had chosen his side.

  Grabbing an apple from the bowl on his bedside table, he bit into it while sliding one arm into his tunic. The day started unbearably warm, a far cry from the freezing temperatures they’d experienced in the weeks before.

  Three short raps sounded on his door and he opened it expecting to find Alixa or Rissa. Instead, a stranger peered in at him. He appeared slightly older than Trystan and a grin stretched across his face.

  “Uh,” Trystan squirmed under the man’s curious gaze. “Can I help you?”

  He laughed, and the sound was lighter than anything Trystan had heard in a long time. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  “I’m sorry, your Majesty.” He shook his head. “I seem to be at a bit of a loss in meeting you.”

  Trystan nodded sl
owly. “Why don’t you start with your name?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Wren.” He stuck out his hand and Trystan looked at it in amusement before taking it in his.

  Wren didn’t bow or keep his distance. Instead, he laughed again.

  “Wow.” His breath rushed out. “Your grip is strong.”

  Trystan released him, but Wren didn’t step back.

  “Is there a reason you’re at my door this morning, Wren?”

  “Of course. Old Man Coille assigned me to you. I’m to show you around and make sure no one sticks a knife in your belly.”

  “Old Man Coille.” Trystan laughed. “If I called him that, he’d be the first person in line to stick a knife in me.”

  Wren waved the words away. “He scowls every time, but I’ve known the man since I was a kid on the battlefield with him.”

  “Battlefield?”

  “THE battlefield. I was just a boy when Coille and Marcus led the army against Dreach-Dhoun. It was epic until…”

  Trystan could imagine what he was going to say. Dreach-Sciene had been winning the war until their magic was stolen. He peered at Wren again, realizing he must be slightly older than he looked. Twenty-five? Thirty?

  “Marcus? You knew my father?”

  Trystan’s father let very few people call him by his first name and this man had done it with the ease of familiarity.

  Wren’s grin widened. “When I was ten-years-old, your father became my hero and kept that title until the day he died.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Come on. You have a lot to see.”

  Trystan stepped into the hall and shut his door. “Just a moment.” He walked to the room a few doors down and pounded on the door. “Open up, old man!”

  Briggs scowled when he appeared. “What?”

  “When you’re not in your room, you will be by my side at all times. Come.” To his surprise, Briggs didn’t protest.

  “Who’s that?” he asked, jerking his head toward Wren.

  “Bless the earth,” Wren gasped. “You’re Briggs Villard. I saw you once during the war.” His eyes widened as he glanced from Briggs to Trystan. “You’re reuniting the Tri-Gard.”

  “No,” Trystan said, but there was no conviction behind the word. He marched down the hall.