Shaking her head, she saw Bren step off the floor and leave his companion with her friends. With a deep breath, Bleak put her empty glass down and approached him.
Bren’s eyes widened at the sight of her. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Wanted to see what all the fuss was about —’
Her usual smart-mouthed reply was second nature. She stopped herself and said more seriously: ‘You invited me.’
‘You didn’t want to come.’
‘I didn’t have – I …’ She sighed. ‘I’m here now.’
Bren took in the blue dress she wore, cinched in at the waist with a black sash. ‘You look different …’
‘Good different?’
Bren nodded. ‘But ya coulda worn a sack and I wouldn’t have cared.’
‘I cared.’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s fair enough. Ya wanna dance, then?’
Bleak was suddenly panicked. ‘I don’t know how.’
‘No one does. Come on. We’ll make it up, eh?’
But it certainly didn’t feel like Bren was making it up as he swept her across the floor. She was practically weightless in his arms, and for the first few moments, she focused so hard on her feet that she barely heard the music. Then, something within her told her to look up.
Bren’s face was close to hers. So close she could feel his warm breath tickle her cheek. She breathed in his familiar smell: rose soap, and tonight, a hint of ale. She followed his lead as he spun her around the floor, the building notes of the Eery Brothers’ melody filling her chest with a lightness she hadn’t felt in a while. Happiness. And Bren … Bren was smiling at her, his large hand enveloping her waist. She could feel the heat from his palm through the fabric of her dress. The fingers of his other hand threaded through hers.
‘So, what d’ya think?’ His words vibrated against her chest.
She knew he wasn’t talking about the music. ‘Better than I imagined,’ she murmured, smiling back at him.
His wintry gaze dropped to her mouth and her heart sped up.
He was going to kiss her. Here, in front of the whole town. She didn’t give a damn. She wouldn’t miss her chance this time.
She reached up so her arms wrapped around his neck, and she drew him in close. His nose brushed hers. She forgot the Eery Brothers and everyone else. There was only them —
‘Bren.’
Bren jolted and Bleak pulled away sharply at the sound of Senior’s rough voice. But her guardian didn’t look angry, she realised. He looked … She didn’t know how he looked. She’d never seen this expression on his face before. All too suddenly, his thoughts – no, his memories, recent memories, crashed into her mind. Images from that very afternoon.
A choppy sea and a black, swirling current, breaking into a giant, wild whirlpool. The Daybreaker rocking from side to side, nearly tipping over, as powerless as a child’s toy up against the will of the gods. Willem going over first, not even having time to scream as he plunged into the dark depths, disappearing into the churning white foam.
‘Willem!’ A massive wave breaking across the deck and Tobias being swept away, his brother’s name still on his lips.
Senior’s own shouts being swallowed by the roar of the sea as he, too, was flung overboard.
‘What is it?’ Bren was saying as he closed the gap between himself and Senior.
Senior’s chin quivered, but his gaze met Bren’s. ‘You’re needed at home, lad.’
Concern flickered across Bren’s face and he took another step towards Senior. ‘Is it Ma?’ His voice cracked.
‘It’s not your ma,’ Bleak said quietly, forgetting herself.
But Bren gave no sign of hearing her. Instead he stared at Senior. ‘I should go?’
Senior nodded slowly. ‘You should go.’
Bren didn’t turn back to her, didn’t feel the ghost of her hand reaching for his arm. He ran from the marquee with the speed of someone trying to outrun a change to their entire world. And so it would be.
Bleak couldn’t hear the music as Senior’s eyes met hers.
‘You know?’ he asked.
She nodded numbly. Willem and Tobias Clayton were gone. Senior hadn’t been able to find them amidst the lashing waves and dark, churning waters. They hadn’t made it. The seas had claimed them both. The seas had nearly claimed Senior too …
‘You’re not my father,’ she’d spat at him. Despair hit her in the gut. Those could have been the last words she ever said to him. Her only family. The only father she’d ever known.
She hardly noticed as Senior led her from the marquee. She hardly noticed as they began to follow the path down the cliffs toward home. They passed the Claytons’ cottage and paused at the gate, swinging ajar on its creaking hinges. Candlelight danced in the windows and Senior started down the pebbled track to their front door. Bleak tugged gently on his sleeve, stopping him. He looked at her in a daze. His eyes were bloodshot, and in the bright moonlight, she could see that his lips were tinged blue. Beneath her hand, his jacket was still damp.
He pulled her towards the house. ‘Come on, we should see how —’
But Bleak shook her head and brought her guardian into a warm embrace. It felt strange, being the one to offer comfort. Usually, it was Senior supporting her. But after a moment of surprise, his long arms wrapped around her back.
‘Bren needs to be with his family,’ she told him. ‘And you need to be with yours.’
Three Bronze Coins
The ride to Willowdale in autumn was nothing short of glorious.
At least, that was how Dimitri Swinton felt as he guided his horse through yet another tunnel of gold and crimson leaves beside the Angove River. He and Eliza Carlington had been meeting in secret for months now, snatching stolen snippets of time together away from the rest of the world. Each visit, each moment they shared made the young commander’s life richer, his chest fuller.
As usual, he bypassed the high street of the village and made his way to their little woodland clearing. From beneath a great willow, he could see the corral where Eliza trained the horses most days. Xander, the colt birthed by Eliza’s mare, Silver, was grazing in the nearby paddock. Though the foal was still young, his fine breeding was already evident.
Swinton dismounted his own horse and sat beneath the tree, excitement fluttering in his chest. He’d had to call in a number of favours back in Heathton in order to be here, but it was worth it. It always was, to see her.
‘Glad you’ve made yourself comfortable.’ Laughter laced Eliza’s voice as she approached. The streams of sunlight escaping the willow’s canopy caught in her gold hair. It had come loose from its usual messy knot and now fell about her face in waves.
Swinton was already on his feet, his long strides closing the gap between them. He brought her bright smile to his face and slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her in tightly. Her body fit against his as though the gods had made it so.
‘I missed you,’ he said into her hair. She smelled of hay and honey.
Her laugh vibrated on his chest. ‘And I you. Though it hasn’t been so long, has it?’
‘It’s been a lifetime,’ Swinton murmured against her lips. With her, no amount of time would ever be enough. Which was precisely why he’d come to Willowdale this time.
‘I need to speak with your father today,’ he told her, suddenly serious.
‘Oh?’
‘Castle stable logistics, I’m afraid.’
‘You’re mixing business with pleasure now, are you, Commander?’ she quipped, squeezing his side.
Swinton kept his arm around her shoulder as he took up his horse’s reins and started towards the stable grounds. ‘Xander’s getting big,’ he remarked, nodding towards the colt, who was still grazing happily.
Eliza smiled. ‘He’s responding well to early training. He’s a smart horse. He’ll be a much sought-after stallion in a few years.’
‘The king will buy him, no doubt.’
Eliza
shrugged. ‘He won’t be for sale.’
They continued across the paddocks, their steps in time with one another’s. Swinton marvelled at the ease of it all: the conversation, the comfortable quiet, the little touches between them – feather-light, but brimming with meaning. He had to stop himself from staring at her.
As they reached the gates of the stables, Swinton reluctantly withdrew his arm from around Eliza. He wanted nothing more than to tell the realm they belonged to each other, but … not yet. They had agreed on that together. Their worlds weren’t ready.
‘Da will be in the tack room.’ Eliza waved vaguely towards the stables. ‘One of the boys made a mess of a delivery, so he’s been in there since dawn sorting through a hundred different sets of reins.’
Swinton laughed nervously. ‘Right …’
‘I’ll saddle up Silver,’ Eliza continued. ‘Perhaps we can meet up for a ride when you’re done?’
Swinton nodded. Grateful for her unsuspecting nature, he watched her walk towards the southern stalls before he made for the tack room, to ask Emmett Carlington for his daughter’s hand.
Dusk settled around the woodland where Swinton once more waited for Eliza. Across the paddocks, the horizon glowed with pink-and-orange clouds. Swinton stared skywards as he paced, recalling Emmett’s words.
‘If she wants you, she wants you, Dimitri. She hasn’t needed my permission to do anything for a long while, and it’s certainly got nothing to do with things now.’
But at the end of the conversation, the stable master had pulled him into a firm embrace and wished him luck. It meant more to Swinton than he could say.
Now, beneath Eliza’s favourite willow, Swinton was wearing the ground thin. He couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited, or both. This was, he hoped, the beginning of a new life. As he walked back and forth, he thought briefly of Fi. His friend would be happy for him – ecstatic, even. It had been Fi who had encouraged him to pursue Eliza in the first place —
A twig snapped. Swinton’s gaze shot up.
Eliza was still in her worn work clothes, her boots caked with mud, brushing her hands on her trousers as she approached.
‘What’s this about?’ she asked by way of greeting. ‘I thought we were going for a ride?’
‘I …’ Suddenly, Swinton realised he hadn’t prepared what he was going to say. He’d been so focused on imagining their life together that the details of the proposal itself had been overlooked. He’d heard tales of grand gestures and gifts, stories of poetry and fine jewellery. But that wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Eliza, either. They were —
‘I want to marry you,’ he blurted, finding his feet rooted to the spot.
Eliza laughed. ‘I want to marry you, too. I thought we already knew that.’
‘No … I want to marry you now. Soon. Within the month.’
Now it was Eliza’s turn to freeze. ‘What?’
Swinton took her hands in his. ‘I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not my wife. We’re meant to be together, you and I.’
She took a half step back, her eyes full of surprise. ‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’ Swinton faltered. ‘I … I don’t have much to offer you, yet. But when I’m a knight —’
Her expression softened, and a warm smile spread across her face as her gaze met his. ‘I meant, yes.’
Something within Swinton flared to life. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’
She was already in his arms. He lifted her off the ground and kissed her deeply. Then, Eliza was laughing.
‘What is it?’ Swinton asked, smiling into her neck, unable to let her go.
‘It seems I owe Ma three bronze coins,’ she told him, still grinning.
‘What?’
Eliza kissed him again. ‘She bet me that you would propose before autumn was over.’
‘She bet on me?’ Swinton asked, amused. ‘You bet on me?’
Eliza elbowed him gently. ‘Welcome to the family, Dimitri. There’s no backing out now.’
Swinton rode into Heathton a new man.
Within the month, he and Eliza would be married. They would start their new life together. Though they hadn’t quite worked out the logistics of where yet, Swinton couldn’t help but feel stupidly happy. He had to find Fi. Next to Eliza, there was no one with whom he’d rather share his joy.
The journey to the castle flew by, and before Swinton knew it, he was passing through the gatehouse and dismounting before the entrance steps. He handed his reins to the waiting attendant, planning to head straight to his chambers to wash up and then send for his friend. But as he entered the castle, he saw a small group of his guards peering into the throne room.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, startling a good few.
‘Commander! We … uh …’ stammered one of the newer guards.
Swinton waited.
Stefan appeared at his comrade’s side, facing Swinton with a stony expression. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you see for yourself, Commander …’
Swinton looked past the guards. His gaze fell on King Arden, who had recently returned from his travels across the seas, and a broad figure standing before him.
‘What in Rheyah’s name …?’ Swinton pushed his way past the rest of the guards and strode into the room.
Siv Lennox turned at the sound of Swinton’s boots on the marble floor, a satisfied smirk on his face.
Fuming, Swinton ignored him and made for the foot of the dais. ‘Your Majesty.’ He bowed low.
‘Commander Swinton,’ King Arden greeted him warmly.
‘My apologies for the intrusion, my king. But this man has no right to be in your throne room.’ He paused, waiting for Lennox to object and bombard the king with his lies, but the man was silent – smugly so. Swinton’s stomach was sinking fast. ‘Your Majesty, I dismissed Siv Lennox in your absence. He was stirring dissent amongst the guards, and attacking his comrades.’
King Arden’s expression remained unchanged. ‘I heard that it was Lennox here who was attacked.’
‘With all due respect —’
‘No guard is ever dismissed in my absence, Commander.’
Swinton’s throat constricted, his mouth instantly dry. What is happening here? Stunned, he glanced between king and former guard. He could still feel the eyes of the rest of the guards from the doorway. They were hearing every word. Seeing the authority stripped from their commander.
He had to try again. This wasn’t right. ‘My king —’
The lift of a single ringed finger silenced him. ‘This is not up for debate, Commander. Lennox here has served in my army for the past seven years, and his father before him. I will not have him turned out onto the streets based on the gossip of some doltish squire. Lennox will be a part of your unit until I order it otherwise. Is that understood?’
Swinton’s face was on fire. Shame seared his cheeks and only sheer willpower stopped him recoiling from the very public reprimand.
‘Is that understood?’ the king repeated coldly.
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Swinton said, struggling to keep his voice even.
‘Good. Now you have my leave. I’m sure you wish to freshen up after your travels. As I understand it, you’ve just this moment returned from Willowdale.’
There was no mistaking the dismissal, or the less-than-subtle nod to the fact that King Arden knew his movements …
But Swinton forced himself to bow low once more. ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ he said, and left the room. He didn’t pause at the gobsmacked guards waiting by the door. Not even for Stefan. He didn’t know what he’d say to them. They’d heard every word, anyway.
He walked briskly through the castle hallways, not sure where he was going until he arrived. As he raised his fist to knock on Fi’s door, he realised he was trembling.
His friend answered, barefoot and smiling brightly. His grin faltered at the sight of Swinton’s shaken expression.
‘What is it, old friend?’ he said, pulling Swinton into his
chambers.
Dazed, Swinton looked around. He’d been in these quarters countless times, for official meetings and quiet games of cards over mead and bread. Fi was generally neat, keeping clothes to the wardrobe in the corner and paperwork in a tidy stack on the desk. Now, the rooms were hardly recognisable. Scrolls of parchment littered the desk and the unmade bed. Dirty clothes were piled by the door of the bathing room, and a blanket and pillow were ruffled on the settee, as though Fi had been sleeping there rather than in his bed.
‘Fi —’ Swinton frowned, forgetting his own affairs for the moment. ‘What’s going on here?’
Fi waved him away. ‘Nothing, Dimi. It’s been a busy week and I’ve just let the mess pile up. Need to get one of the housemaids to help, eh?’
Swinton began to shake his head. This was very unlike Fi. As was his mention of the housekeeping staff. Fi always tended to his own rooms —
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Dimi,’ Fi told him, scooping the blanket and pillow from the settee and dumping them on the floor. He gestured for Swinton to sit. ‘What bothers you, old friend?’
With a heavy sigh, Swinton decided he needed to pick his battles. He sank into the settee and rubbed his temples. ‘Lennox,’ he said.
‘Ah.’
‘You know?
Fi nodded. ‘Stefan came to me this morning. The king is reinstating that bastard, eh?’
‘Apparently.’
Fi swore. ‘It’s not right. He’s causing trouble amongst the guards. He’s undermining you. He’s —’
‘I know all of this, Fi. But what exactly can I do about it now? He stays on Arden’s orders.’
‘You should have explained —’
‘I did! It was no use. Lennox has the king wrapped around his finger —’
Fi scoffed. ‘Or Arden is using Lennox for something.’
‘What?’
‘Dirty work, Dimi. Every king has some. And every king needs a lackey to do it.’
Dawn of Mist Page 16
