Emi turned and walked away from him, toward the bank of the river, breathing deeply, staring along the course of the stream. Then she turned back. “Is that all that I am?” She wondered. “An allotment of merchandise to be traded for the possibility of peace? Is that the value that my father places upon me?”
Brenyn shook his head. “He likely hopes that you and Prince Corun will grow fond of one another – enough to consider marriage without prodding from him.” Brenyn grimaced. “Have you taken the time to know Corun, Emi? Maybe –”
“Enough, Brenyn Vagus,” she said. “I have spent time with Corun Uell, and I would not marry him if we were the very last of our kind upon the earth. He is selfish and brutish.”
Brenyn drew in a breath. “You would not marry him even if it meant peace?”
“Would it guarantee peace?” She asked bluntly.
Brenyn let out the breath, and, after a moment, shook his head. “No, I think not. Nothing will guarantee peace. I believe that if the darking means to bring war upon Vicundium, then war will come.”
“Then what would be the point of me marrying a man I do not love?” Emi demanded.
Brenyn made himself ask the question. “Might you not learn to love Prince Corun?”
She came back to him and took his hands in hers, looking up into his face. “One does not learn to love anyone, Brenyn. The heart loves who it will – and my heart loves you.”
Brenyn’s own heart flipped over in his chest. “Truly, Emi?”
“Truly,” she declared. “And I will tell my father this. Surely, he will not want to deny me happiness.”
Despite the soaring of his heart, Brenyn felt the cold twinge of caution cool his blood. Reluctantly, he shook his head. “No, Emi – do this instead, I beg you.” He drew in a deep breath. “Wait until after the party, and then ask your father what he would think of his daughter rejecting Corun and marrying a common citizen. Then you will know his mind.”
“And if he objects?”
“Then the time to make a decision will be upon us,” Brenyn answered.
Her eyes darkened with doubt, but then brightened with an idea. “Can we not simply go away, to another part of the world? – where the differences between us will not matter? Why cannot we do that?”
Brenyn sighed. “And what would your father do, should we run away, Emi? Would he not think that I had kidnapped you and so send his guard to seek us out? And what would he do to Gran?”
This deflated her. Tears formed in her eyes. But then, after a moment, her chin lifted again. “I will be eighteen in a year and will then come of age. At that time, I will tell my father that I mean to marry you whatever he thinks of it. Then we will go away and take Gran with us.”
He studied her doubtfully. “You would do this? You would leave your home and go into the unknown with me?”
There was nothing childlike or simple about her answer. “I love you, Brenyn. Wherever you go, there I will go, too.”
He pulled her close and embraced her, caring not that they could be observed by the watchful gaze of Captain Grizeo upon the bridge. “If you are still of this mind in one year, Emi, then we will go away and make a life together.”
Her voice was muffled against his chest but determined and firm. “I will yet be of this mind,” she declared.
He gently held her away from him. “Then, go, and have your party. I will be here when you return.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes yet moist with emotion, and then lifted her face to be kissed.
Brenyn waited anxiously for the day when she would come back to him, expecting a week to pass, as usual.
But she returned two days later.
She and Captain Grizeo passed by the bridge and came to the house, finding Brenyn on the road, coming toward them. At once, Emi leapt from her horse and rushed into his arms. Brenyn, pulling her close, looked at Grizeo in alarm. “What has happened?”
Grizeo shook his head. “The princess will tell you,” he said, and he reached out and gathered the reins of her horse, pivoting about as he did so. “I will be at the bridge,” he said.
Brenyn held her close, feeling her shudder with the strength of her emotion. With a start, he realized that she was crying. He held her close and let her weep against his chest, saying nothing. Then, after a time, when she had grown calmer, he gently held her away from him to look in her eyes. “What has happened, Emi?”
At that, she shook her head and closed her eyes, squeezing the moisture from their corners. “You were right, Brenyn,” she answered, “and I have been such a fool.”
“Why? – what has happened?”
“My… father… has betrothed me to Prince Corun. It was humiliating.”
Brenyn stared at her. “When? – when will – when does your father expect you to marry?”
Emi breathed deep, regaining her composure. “In one year, ten days after my eighteenth birthday.”
Brenyn nodded with decision. “Then we have one year to decide what it is that we will do.”
Then he hesitated. “If you yet mean to marry me?”
She nodded. “I do.” She grasped his hands. “Let us go away now, Brenyn,” she said, with desperation coloring her tone. “We will go far away. Let him send his militia after us – we will go so far away that they cannot find us. But let us go now.”
He shook his head. “We must prepare first – and I must see to Gran’s safety, for she is too old for an arduous journey.”
“I will take one of my father’s carriages,” she argued. “Gran can ride, and then she can come with us.”
Brenyn shook his head. “A carriage is too slow. They would catch us. No, Emi, we must plan and then move with thought and care, else we will fail.” He looked toward the bridge. “Come, let us walk and talk a while in the field.”
She gazed up at him, unmoving, hesitant, and uncertain.
Reaching down, he slipped his fingers into hers. “Come,” he said, “for we must plan our escape carefully. For now, let us walk and think calmly.”
She nodded in reluctant acquiescence and leaned against him as they walked northward.
Passing the bridge, Brenyn nodded silently to Grizeo, who blew out a cloud of smoke and nodded in return, saying nothing. They turned and entered the field. For a time then, Brenyn and Emi walked north along the banks of the river where they had played so often as children.
After a while, Brenyn looked down. “Forgive me, Emi, but I must ask you once more – are you certain of this? Are you certain that you are willing to go away from your home, from your father, and into the unknown world, just to be with me?”
She tilted her head and looked up. “I want nothing else,” she answered, and her voice was solemn, and sure.
“Alright,” Brenyn said. “I will see to the disposition of the farm and find a place for Gran to be safe from your father’s wrath, and then we will go away.”
She looked to the front, toward the mountains far off in the north. “Where will we go?” She wondered. “Into the wilderness, or to another land?”
“You would go into the wilderness?” Brenyn asked.
She nodded with fierce adamance. “With you – yes.”
He considered that for a moment. “Captain Grizeo says that the whole of the world to the south is aflame with war.”
He also looked northward toward the mountains. “Perhaps the wilderness, then, is the wisest choice. But if so, then we must wait until the spring, Emi, so that we can find shelter and a place to dwell before next winter comes. Were we to go now, with autumn already upon us, winter would catch us unprepared.”
At that, she stopped, gazing toward the towers of the castle that rose beyond the hills to the northeast. “But I must then endure a winter of deceiving my father, for he will expect me to obey him.” Involuntarily, she shuddered. “And Corun, I fear, will come often.”
Brenyn pulled her close. “Be strong, Emi; let us get past the winter and then we will go away. It will pass soon enough.”
“And I must find a place for Gran,” he went on, “for she is too old to make a journey of such length and duration.”
She looked at him and frowned. “I will not put her at risk,” she said. “But where will she go? If the lands to the south are at war – then where will she go?”
Brenyn grimaced. “I do not know. Perhaps Captain Grizeo might be of help.”
She looked toward the ramparts of the distant castle for a long moment, and she stopped walking, standing still and silent for a long moment. Then; she stepped away, and turned to face him.
“We cannot abandon Gran to satisfy our own purposes,” she stated. “You tell me I must be strong, and so I must. I will not marry Corun,” she went on. “I will refuse him. When I am eighteen, I will be of age. I will defy my father’s wishes, and he may then do as he pleases.” Her eyes grew hard, like flint. “He may either forgive my disobedience, or he may disown me; I care not. I will be no man’s wife but yours, Brenyn, but I will not endanger your Gran.”
Surprised by her sharp and sudden resolve, he nonetheless frowned. “Are you strong enough to endure this, Emi? – to endure a year of your father’s displeasure?”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “My father cares little about what I do or do not do,” she answered. “Indeed, most days, he barely notices me. Still, I believe that he loves me, and will not force me into a marriage for his own benefit. I will tell him this day that I will not marry Corun.”
She frowned and her eyes, though yet bright and hard, grew thoughtful. “Besides,” she said, “it is Lord Benfry’s wish that I be used to secure an alliance. I am not certain, but should it come to it, I believe that my father will resist Benfry’s insistence and take my part.”
“Who is Lord Benfry?” Brenyn asked.
“He is father’s chief councilor and advisor.” She sighed. “My father is ever distraught over my mother’s death and often neglects the business of the realm. Lord Benfry practically rules in his stead. It is he that suggested my marriage to Corun.”
Brenyn was silent for a moment; then he shook his head. “I will not let you suffer, Emi. I will speak to Gran and Captain Grizeo. If I can find a place where she will be unmolested, then we will go away as we planned.”
Her eyes grew sad and she shook her head. “But should you leave her, Brenyn, she will be utterly alone, with no one to care for her.” She sighed deeply. “No; I must be strong.” She looked toward the bridge. “Let us go now. I would speak with my father this very day while my courage holds.”
Brenyn scowled. “I am sorry, Emi, that you are to be tested in this manner. Would that I could spare you.”
At that, she took his hands in hers and managed a smile. “You saved me from the flood, but this I must do alone. And I will endure what must be endured. Come, let us go.”
At the bridge, he kissed her and held her for a long moment and then helped her to mount up on her horse. “I love you, Emi,” he said earnestly.
Her eyes grew moist. “Those words, my love, will give me strength to do what I must. Come, captain, let us go.”
A week went by after that meeting, and then another, and yet another. And then four weeks passed. The summer had ended, autumn came, the weather cooled, the leaves turned on the trees and began to fall. Winter was but a few weeks away, and still Emi did not come.
One day, while Brenyn was splitting wood and stacking it in the lean-to for the winter, with his ear turned toward the bridge as always, he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves coming from the direction of town. Casting his ax to one side, he hurried toward the bridge, only to find Captain Grizeo, alone, coming to meet him.
The captain reined in his horse and greeted Brenyn. “T’is you I am coming to see, lad, and bring you a message from Princess Emilene.”
Brenyn felt his heart catch inside his chest. “What news, captain? Is she safe?”
Grizeo nodded. “She is safe, lad, but the prince has decreed that she be ensconced inside the castle until she changes her mind and marries Prince Corun.” He grinned. “Neither Cole nor Benfry, I fear, understand the strength of will in that young woman. She will not submit, however much they pressure her.”
Brenyn frowned. “Does she suffer?”
Grizeo shook his head. “She is not mistreated, Brenyn, but she is, in effect, a prisoner.”
“Will I not see her before winter, then?”
“I fear not,” Grizeo replied. “She sent me to assure you that her resolve holds and that she will come to you in the spring.”
Brenyn shook his head and scowled. “I do not want to be the cause of her suffering, captain.”
“She does not suffer, Brenyn,” Grizeo assured him. “Except in the fact that she cannot leave the castle and come to you.” Then he considered for a moment and his gaze grew thoughtful. “I think, in the end, that this may turn out best for you and her,” he stated. “For despite Benfry being in high dudgeon about the whole thing, Cole, I believe, weakens in his resolve. Though he pays Emilene little mind, he nonetheless loves his daughter.”
Grizeo leaned down from the saddle and clapped Brenyn on the shoulder. “Courage, Brenyn,” he said. “It will be alright. That young lady of yours is a strong one. We will come and see you again in the spring.”
Brenyn’s heart sank at the thought of not seeing Emi for so long a time, but he nodded, anyway. “Thank you, captain. Tell her, if you will, that I… I love her.”
Grizeo returned a solemn nod. “I will tell her, Brenyn.”
He turned his horse, raised his hand, and went back up the road, around the distant corner and disappeared toward town.
After a long moment, Brenyn went back to his labors.
11.
Winter came, and it was to be a season that Brenyn would remember for the whole of his life.
Little snow fell that winter, but the temperatures dropped. Bitter cold settled on the countryside. Brenyn was glad now that his distress over not seeing Emi the previous fall had forced him to cut more wood to distract himself, for it was needed now. Often, the wind blew hard against the small house, and Brenyn kept the fire roaring to ward off the cold. Mirae opted to sleep by the fire, in her chair, rather than endure the chill of her room.
Brenyn did most of the cooking now, to allow her to take her ease, and he kept her supplied with cups of hot tea.
“I’m glad you’re here, Brennie,” she said more than once. “I am afraid my old bones wouldn’t be able to survive a winter such as this without you.”
He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I will always care for you, Gran.”
But as he spoke these words, he inwardly grimaced with shame, remembering his now-discarded plan to “find a place for her” so that he and Emi could go away. And he was glad that Emi had found the strength to convince him to abandon any scheme that would place his beloved Gran at risk.
At last, the weather began to warm, slowly. Because such little snow had fallen over the winter, Brenyn considered plowing early before spring came, so as to get a head start on preparing for planting.
In truth, he was restless, eager to find any means of making time speed by, for he was anxious for news from the castle. Mostly, he was anxious to see Emi again and know that she was safe from harm and released from any obligation to marry another.
One blustery evening, when the icy winds of winter yet held sway against any advance of spring, he returned to the house from caring for the ox out in the barn. Gran still sat in her chair before the fire, her head tilted to one side, as if asleep.
Easing around in front of her, however, Brenyn discovered that her eyes were open, watching the fire. He smiled, patted her shoulder, and went toward the kitchen.
“What about supper, Gran? There’s a bit of bread and some butter. Shall we dine on simple fare tonight?”
She didn’t answer.
Frowni
ng, he looked over. She was still gazing at the flames in the fireplace. “Gran? Didn’t you hear?”
It was in that moment that something about the attitude of her body, and the angle of her head, struck him as wrong.
Then, as he looked closer, his heart sank, and he rushed to her side. Her eyes were open, but odd, unfocused, and the light was gone out of them. Whatever those eyes looked upon now, they saw nothing in the world of the living. Desperate, he felt of her cheek. It was cold, so very cold, despite the fire blazing mere paces away.
“Gran?”
The truth struck him like a hammer to the chest.
She was dead. She had died, quietly, while he was at work in the barn. Tears erupted and flowed down his face.
She had not been ill, though she had suffered from the cold and windy winter, even inside the shelter of the house. Brenyn did not know her age, but his father, her son, had been somewhat older when Brenyn was born, so Gran’s years were likely many, enough that age had caught up to her and had called in that grim servant of time, Mortality, to attend to his appointed task.
Kneeling in front of her, Brenyn wept. Outside, the frigid wind picked up and moaned against the window, as if it mourned with him.
After a while, he lifted her up and realized that her body was already stiffening with the rigor of death. He laid her upon her bed and straightened her arms and legs. Then he wrapped her in her favorite blanket. Kissing her cheek one last time, he covered her face and went back to sit by the fire.
He did not weep again, but his heart plummeted deep into the dark realms of sorrow.
He had neglected her, he knew, leaving her alone for hours while he attended to his chores in an attempt to hurry time.
Now, she was gone, and he had not told her farewell.
The more he contemplated the fact that he had considered leaving her “someplace safe” so as to escape with Emi, the more his mood darkened. Gran would not have blamed him, he knew; still, he chastised himself for his selfishness. The night deepened and still Brenyn sat before the fireplace, while the wood burned down and became coals. The house grew cold, but he cared not.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 10
