Duty: a novel of Rhynan (25 page)

“I will not chain her. She has done nothing
wrong.”

Dentin nodded. “I recommend you bring in the irons as
though you intend to comply and don’t use them.”

“And the guard within sight at all times? Does he not
trust me?”

Dentin smirked. “He does not trust you with her. He
knows your weakness. He suspects you do not see beyond your
marriage oath to her and hers to you.”

“What does he want me to do? Forget I am married to
her? Forget that our informant’s word is suspect? Forget that she
has proven her loyalty repeatedly?” Tomas’ strides grew swifter
with each query.

“Her loyalty to you, not the king.” Dentin’s voice
was almost a whisper in contrast to Tomas’ rising tones

Tomas rounded to confront his friend. “In my mind it
is the same.”

Growing weary of being discussed in my presence, I
spoke up. “The point is that it isn’t the same in his mind and he
is the king.”

Two surprised faces turned my way. As I suspected
they had forgotten I was there.

“I am willing to submit to the king’s
instructions.”

Tomas opened his mouth to protest, but Dentin spoke
first.

“The chains will be here in an hour. There is no need
to use them within the tent walls. I will see that my men guard
your tent. You will not be disturbed and the king cannot accuse you
of disobedience if my men vouch for your compliance.” He turned to
Tomas. “But, whatever happens, don’t let her leave your sight.”

He stalked out through the canvas flaps without a
word of farewell and began calling for his second-in-command. As
Dentin’s voice faded into the distance, I turned to find Tomas
watching me with weary eyes.

“You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“Life is full of shoulds and shouldn’ts, but fighting
for them to become reality isn’t always the wisest course. I prefer
to pick my battles with care. This is one I choose not to
fight.”

He ran his hands through his hair and massaged his
scalp. “Are you going to insist on wearing the chains?”

“No.”

He crossed to claim my hands. Running his thumbs
across the inside of my wrists, he gazed deep into my eyes. “Good.
I am not sure I could tolerate you in chains.”

“My Lord Irvaine?” a male voice queried from
outside.

“What is it now?” Tomas muttered as he turned away.
He pressed through the flaps.

Mindful of my new status of prisoner, I retreated
toward the far corner where my gear had been slung. Suddenly all I
desired was food and sleep. The memory of falling asleep in Tomas’
arms brought warmth and uneasy anticipation. I ignored the
inevitable awkwardness to come and focused on checking my gear.

Anise and Loren had assumed the responsibility of
preparing my kit while I was being presented to the king. Three
tunics, sturdy woolen leggings and a choice of two solid colored
surcoats burst free from the leather satchel. They fell across my
lap in a mass of burgundy, navy, and cream, Loren’s favorite
colors. I recognized the lace I gave her five years ago carefully
stitched to the flared sleeves of the burgundy tunic. Her best
clothes sacrificed for a rough journey. “Oh, Loren, you shouldn’t
have,” I whispered. My throat swelled with unshed tears so it hurt
to swallow. Stroking the cloth’s edge, I vowed I would replace them
with garments twenty times better.

“Lord Dentin ordered our dinner be brought to us.”
Tomas slid a heavily laden tray onto the table. “The other items
will arrive in an hour or so. They have to find them.” He began
unloading the crocks and jugs. “Are you hungry?” He turned in time
to catch me wiping away an escaped tear.

Without a word he crossed to me, dropped to his
knees, and pulled me into his arms. The gentle caress of his rough
hands as he guided my head to his shoulder brought more tears
flooding forth. I pressed my face into the solid warmth of him and
released weeks of pent up homesickness in a deluge of tears.

I could never go back. Loren had a family of her own
now. I was married to Tomas. Loren and I were both ruled by duties,
commitments, and separate lives. Now our treasured moments sitting
together before a winter fire, exchanging laughter and girlish
confidences, would become only cherished memories. Could a countess
and a commoner relate over such confidences? My struggles with
treason, politics, and marriage to a powerful man with complicated
loyalties seemed so different from our old worries of weather,
getting harvest in before the rains came, and conserving every last
drop of each bottle of father’s wine.

“Hush.” His lips brushed my forehead. “You don’t even
have to see them. I’ll hide them under the bed. You won’t even know
they are there.”

“No.” I pushed away so I could see his face. “It
isn’t the chains. I am just homesick for a simpler time.” I swiped
at the tears still slipping down my cheeks. “It didn’t seem so
simple then, but I wish I could go back to when my greatest worry
was the gophers or whether the wheat would come up in the
spring.”

He caught a tear as it dripped from my chin. “I wish
for the days when all I focused on was besting Brevand in our next
bout, a far cry from my concerns of the past few years.”

“Brevand?” I blinked away the last of the moisture.
My face felt bloated as it usually did after crying.

Tomas smiled. It transformed his face. Lightening his
usual brooding stare and giving me a glimpse of what he might have
looked like in younger days. The likeness to Darnay was
astonishing.

“In the beginning Brevand had the advantage of early
training. I only possessed an unquenchable desire to prove myself.
Everyone looked down on me because my mother refused to identify my
father. Sir Fortwin saw beyond my birth and treated me as though I
was of equal worth as the rest of those in his service. I strove to
be worthy of that regard.

“In the first bout, Brevand trounced me so badly I
ached for days.”

I wondered at the transformation of his features as
he told his story. I kept getting glimpses of a young boy desperate
to prove himself worthy of the potential Sir Fortwin saw in
him.

“He didn’t stop after you went down?”

“I refused to give up until I couldn’t stand and lift
my sword. Three days later we had our second face-off. He defeated
me again. By the second week, he still whipped me in the practice
yard, but I actually got a score in once in a while. It took me
three years before I finally won a match.”

“And now?” I asked.

“I don’t know. We haven’t faced each other over
crossed weapons in a long time.” Sadness clouded his eyes as he
seemed to recall the betrayal that now stood between them.

“Brevand saved the women’s lives when Orwin set fire
to the lord’s hall.”

“He was still there?”

I nodded, avoiding Tomas’ suddenly hopeful gaze. As
much as I wanted Brevand’s contrition to be a sign of complete
repentance, I doubted it. I recalled that flare of anger in his
gaze when we first met. A man who despises the good fortune of his
friend is not a friend.

“I had Captain Eirianware confine him to one of the
cottages until your return. I don’t know what happened after that.
For all I know, Eirianware left him there.”

“I will check with him tomorrow. Eirianware is a good
man. I am sure he secured Brevand.”

“Won’t Mendal want to determine his fate?”

“Possibly, but I would prefer dealing with him
myself. Mendal, when he is in this mood, would sentence him to
death without much thought.”

I frowned at his wording. “Mendal has been like this
before?”

“Right before he started his campaign to take the
throne, even the most mundane things became secrets. He lived in
fear that something would be discovered before the time was right
to move openly against the other feuding nobles. Ironic, isn’t it?
Now he fears someone will do the same against him.”

“Why did you support him?”

His brows lowered and he avoided my gaze. “Foolish
idealism and a touch of desire to change the world.”

I took a deep breath and asked the question that had
been burning in my head since I met Mendal. “I don’t know much
about either king, but I am curious. Do you think Mendal is better
than Trentham?”

I expected him to brush off the question, avoid it,
or change the subject. Instead, he answered me.

“Then, I believed Mendal would be better. Now, my
perception isn’t as simplistic. Trentham was a good king until he
went sick with paranoia, killing at random for nonsensical reasons.
He left no sons or daughters so the succession was bound to be
tumultuous even if the rebellion hadn’t toppled him first.”

I didn’t realize how bad the government had been.
Tucked up in the northeast, Wisenvale was isolated from the
political gossip. “So Mendal didn’t begin the rebellion?”

“I wouldn’t have supported him if he had.” Tomas
focused on tucking a trailing curl behind my ear. “Trentham’s
favorites, the elite ranks of nobles he began executing randomly,
tried to seize control. They would have succeeded if they could’ve
agreed on a leader.”

“So Mendal stepped in after the chaos began.”

Tomas nodded. “I still believe Mendal can be a good
king. Up until now he has proven to be wise and practical, but this
recent plot and its aftermath shook his confidence in his allies,
friends, and his ability to judge character. He must have believed
Lord Wisten’s drivel more than Dentin and I suspected.”

Suddenly my position appeared even more hopeless.
“How am I going to convince Mendal I am not a traitor if he is
questioning everyone’s loyalty?”

Tomas stroked the back of his fingers along my cheek,
tracing my jaw. “Dentin is working on it.”

“You are putting a lot of trust in Lord Dentin.”

“Yes, I am. He is worthy of it.” He caught my chin,
guiding it so we were almost nose to nose.

I frowned and refused to lift my gaze to meet his. I
didn’t appreciate my life depending on the skills of a man I only
just met. For all I knew he was going to do nothing and let me die
a traitor’s death.

“Brielle, do you trust me?”

I resisted the temptation to pull my chin from his
grip, but I still didn’t look up. “To a point.” I studied his jaw
instead. Covered in the beginnings of a beard, I wondered how it
would feel to my fingers.

“Brielle.” He almost growled my name in frustration.
“Look at me and tell me the truth.”

Without thought, I obeyed. “I do trust you, but I
don’t like sitting around waiting for someone else to rescue
me.”

“Imagine how I feel.”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze fell to my mouth, where his fingers traced
my bottom lip distracting me from my question. “I am entrusting him
with one of the most valuable parts of my life.”

Before I could figure out an appropriate response, he
caught my mouth with his own and drove all thoughts from my
head.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two and a half days later we arrived outside
Kyrenton’s outer wall. Over that time, Tomas and Dentin’s men
became a single army. Camping, eating, sleeping, riding, and
training together, camaraderie formed among the ranks. The
relationship among the leadership was a bit rougher.

“I have to do what?” Rathenridge demanded from just
outside Tomas’ tent door.

“I want you to send scouts into the city.” Dentin’s
clipped tones cut through the canvas as though it was nothing.

I slipped to the door and lifted the flap slightly.
In the center of the common area beyond the tent walls, the two men
were standing on opposite sides of a camp table spread with
maps.

Rathenridge glared at Dentin over his crossed arms
and adjusted his stance slightly. “Why my men?”

“You have been in the city before.” Dentin pronounced
each word with precise care as though the reason were obvious.
“Your men know the layout better than mine.”

“My men are known by the inhabitants.”

Dentin raised an eyebrow, his face showing none of
the weariness I would expect. “Not all of them. Surely some haven’t
managed to gain a reputation yet.”

Rathenridge rose to the bait. “How dare you slur the
good name of good men!”

“What is the issue?” Tomas asked as he approached.
Exhaustion marred his face in dark circles beneath his eyes. Lack
of appetite had eaten away at his cheeks leaving them thin. He
leaned over the table between the men and studied the map between
his supporting hands. He blinked it into focus while Rathenridge
smirked at Dentin over his head.

“You missed a gate here and the postern gate there.”
Tomas pointed to two spots on the map. “I recommend the scouts
enter by the western gate. We don’t have the men to surround the
city until the king arrives. I see no reason to block the traffic
through there until then. Waiting won’t change much considering
their stored food. If anything, it helps. There will be fewer
innocents to get in the way if they run first. Besides, it makes it
a prime spot for infiltration.”

“What! You are giving Jorndar an escape route.”
Rathenridge complained.

“We can watch from a distance and stop anyone farther
out,” Dentin pointed out. “If Jorndar wants to run, he can, but we
will catch him.”

Rathenridge scowled at Dentin. “There is still the
issue of whose men go into the city on reconnaissance.”

“Landry’s,” Tomas said as he straightened. “He sent
seven men out before we broke camp this morning.”

“And when did you plan on informing me of this?”
Dentin demanded.

“When you two stopped arguing long enough for me to
get in a word.” Tomas met Dentin’s glare with one of his own. “I
don’t see why you two can’t get along.”

“It is a personality issue,” Rathenridge
muttered.

Dentin looked at him. No emotion, no reaction, simply
bland observation. “Yours?”