A crashing in the brush warned him of the stag before it appeared. As the magnificent beast leaped past him Kai had little time to sidestep.
Thwack!
The stag arrested midair and crashed to the ground below the path. Kai looked, not toward the slain deer, but uphill, one hand going to the hilt of his blade, the other to the dagger tucked into his belt. His posture relaxed. “Well, then. Good day to you.”
Dorann lowered his bow and gave a nod. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“You came a bit close with that arrow.”
Dorann slung his bow across his back and half-slid down the hill to draw abreast of Kai. He pulled a hunting knife that gleamed and dove into the brush below the path. “You were safe enough.” Kai followed, coming upon Dorann in time to see him slash the dead beast’s throat. “I suppose I’m used to lesser marksmen—excluding, of course, Aerlic.”
Dorann bent to examine the motionless animal, then stood and gave Kai a grin.
“It’s well I came across you. The Lof Shraen requires at his meeting table this eve all who accompanied Shae.”
Dorann gave him a long look but nodded without speaking. He turned to hoist his kill upon his shoulders. The great head hung backward, its antlers branching down, and swung as Dorann started up the hill, dragging the dead beast behind him.
“Here, let me help you.”
Dorann shook his head. “I’m balanced this way.”
“How is it you still hunt and track while your brother serves as a guardian of Rivenn? Should I speak to Craelin on your behalf?”
“He already asked.” Dorann puffed out the words. “I said no.”
“You said no? Why?”
Dorann paused at the top of the hill. “Each man has his place in this world. Here’s mine.”
****
“How did you come upon the Elder youth you brought into Torindan?”
Why did Elcon ask the same question twice? Kai, seated beside Craelin, frowned. Had Elcon not heard their answers when he first asked, or did he look for another truth?
Across the Lof Shraen’s meeting table Aerlic, Eathnor, and Dorann quaffed steaming cider after a fine meal. Beside Kai, Guaron kept his own counsel. Farther down the table Benisch still attacked a roasted
crobok
leg.
Kai tried again. “Emmerich came into Elderland at Gilead Riann in place of Shae.”
Elcon’s green eyes lit. “You saw this?”
“I saw this.”
Dorann cleared his throat. “As did I.”
Elcon said nothing for a time then gave a curt nod. “I believe you.”
Benisch waved the half-eaten crobok leg. “Begging your pardon, but whether or not you saw the Elder come from the gateway matters not. That’s not the question t’ask at all. You want to know just
who
came through the gateway.” He looked first to Elcon, and then swept a glance to all those seated. “
Who
is this Elder?”
Kai considered Benisch’s question. How could he say with certainty he knew the answer? And yet he felt he did. Try as he might, he found no words to speak his heart.
Elcon lifted a tankard to his lips, his expression meditative.
Benisch eyed them. “Am I to understand none can answer my question? And yet you brought this Elder,
whoever he might be
, into Torindan and into the presence of your Lof Shraen.” He shook his head in apparent amazement at such perfidy.
Elcon put his tankard down. “Thank you, Benisch. You’ve clarified matters.”
Benisch sat back with a grunt and gave himself once more to his food. Kai averted his eyes. Although Benisch had excellent manners, he did not like watching him eat. He looked instead at Elcon and wished he could explain that accepting Emmerich as DawnKing required a knowing that started first in the heart.
5
Backlash
“Aewen.” Inydde stood to her feet and held herself in stillness. “What became of you this day?”
Aewen looked from her mother’s upright figure to the slumped and sobbing bundle of clothing that pulled upright. She gasped when she recognized Murial as the source of the weeping. She seemed older, the lines etched deeper into her face than when Aewen left her—had it been only this morning? Murial wrung her hands and smiled through tears. “You’ve returned safe, Lof Yuel be thanked.”
“Be still, Murial.” Inydde rapped out. “My daughter’s welfare is no longer your concern. Gather your belongings and take to the road. You’ll have no reference from me.”
“Mother.”
“Silence. I’ll have no protests from you, Aewen. Murial should not have allowed you to wander off as she did this morning. She’s entirely too lenient with you.”
Aewen’s jaw dropped. Her voice, when she found it, sounded strangled. “How can you say such a thing when you, yourself, look the other way and allow me freedoms? You’re embarrassed because I was not here to receive Prince Raefe. That’s what this is all about, is it not?” She stomped her foot, past caution. “I’ll not have Murial punished in my place.”
Inydde advanced, red-faced. Catching Aewen by the hair, she drew back her arm, and her slap rang out as Aewen’s cheek took fire. The blow spun Aewen backward against the open door, which crashed into the wall as she fell. She pulled to her knees and raised her arms to protect herself, but Inydde only jerked her upright by the shoulders. She gained her feet, and they faced one another, panting.
“You will not instruct your mother.” Inydde paused to catch her breath. “Do you understand?”
She lowered her head. “I understand.”
Inydde released her and huddled by the fire as if chilled. “Leave us,” she flung at Murial, who had not yet moved.
Aewen looked to her maid with silent tears sliding down her face. She could not imagine her life without the woman who had watched over her since before she could remember. Murial gave her a tender look, straightened, and walked through the doorway to her own chamber.
Aewen spoke to the back her mother turned to her. “The fault is mine. I should not have run away today. I was upset.”
Inydde stood in profile, the flames in the hearth behind her. “Brother Robb said as much.”
Aewen managed to contain her surprise. She had not thought Brother Robb would go to her parents. “Did he tell you all?”
“He said you wished to take a vow of celibacy.”
She put her arms around herself. To refuse her request was one thing. To tell her parents what she’d asked was another. “Well then. You know he refused me.”
Inydde faced her. “You must keep your father’s word, which he gave with your happiness in mind.”
Aewen gave a short, bitter laugh. “And so my life is decided for me. My father, whom you remind me has my happiness in mind, did not even bother to ask me what I wanted.”
“I warn you, Aewen, do not provoke me further. You will marry Raefe of Darksea.”
“And if I refuse?”
Inydde’s face went red again and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She took the strides that brought her close, and Aewen flinched.
“That option does not belong to you.” Her mother struck only with words this time, but she delivered a harsher blow.
Murial returned from her chamber bearing a large carpet bag and a cloth bundle that looked like it contained bedding. She wore a cape, a hood of black wool, and sturdy shoes. At least she would not be cold, although Aewen could not bear the thought of her upon the road by night.
“Mother, please don’t send Murial away, or at least let her go by morning.”
Inydde’s eyes narrowed to slits of sapphire as she looked at the old servant, who huddled in her cloak before her. “Very well, then. You can stay.” She cocked an eyebrow and shot a look at Aewen. “But mind your mistress does not stray again, and that she acts with good faith toward Prince Raefe, or you’ll find the road your bed.”
Aewen caught her breath as Murial’s gaze flew to hers.
Inydde swept toward the open door, pausing as her hand came out to touch Aewen’s face. “Bathe your face and tidy yourself, daughter. There’s yet time to meet Prince Raefe at table. We’ll await you.”
Inydde departed, and it seemed she took the air from the chamber with her. Aewen pushed the door closed, listening for the click of the latch before she turned back to embrace Murial, who wept in her arms. She soothed her servant, although she wanted to weep herself.
****
The maiden who looked back with enormous eyes of palest blue from Aewen’s mirror glass seemed to have no resemblance to herself. The skin beneath those eyes bore a faint smudge of purple—the result of sleeplessness. Her black hair, so like her mother’s only served to draw attention to skin that seemed pale, drained of life, except for the red stain on her cheek. Aewen sighed and put her hand over the tender place. She could do nothing to hide the mark. With a sudden surge of anger, she drew her hand away. Let Prince Raefe and King Devlon guess the truth. It didn’t matter. She would find a way to free herself yet. Murial finished dressing her hair, and Aewen turned away from the mirror. She must not involve her maid in her troubles again.
Aewen, with Murial holding a lanthorn to light her way, descended the side stairs and took the corridor that ran the length of Cobbleford Castle. An archway at its center led into the great hall. The sound of chatter reached her long before she entered the enormous vaulted room with its gilt and crystal. She blinked in the sudden light of many torches, fires, and candles. A footman came forward to offer his arm. She walked beside him toward the raised platform at the north end of the hall where her family and guests waited. She kept her pace slow, wondering how she would be able to eat anything. Her head ached and her stomach churned with nausea.
She saw him then, youthful and handsome, with eyes that sparkled. No wonder Caerla recommended him so. And yet, despite Prince Raefe’s handsomeness, the lift of his head hinted of arrogance.
Her father, King Euryon of Westerland, watched her, too. Although Aewen avoided his eye, she could not detect any sign that her father knew of her rebellion. She curtsied to her parents. Inydde stood in greeting and went to her at once. She might look the picture of motherly grace to others, but Inydde dug the tips of her nails into Aewen’s arm.
Raefe rose from table and came forward with his father, Devlon of Darksea, to give his bow to her. With a parting squeeze, her mother released her grip, and Aewen made her own dutiful curtsey. Her face grew warm under an inspection from deep blue eyes. “You have much of beauty about you.”
She bowed her head. “Milord, I thank you.”
“I hope you are now well? Your mother gave your apologies earlier—a headache, I understand.”
“Thank you, I am better now.”
“I’m glad to hear it. May I escort you to table?” Raefe took her arm without waiting for permission. “You will sit beside me.”
Aewen looked away from her mother’s hard sapphire eyes and let Raefe draw her to the table. She felt small beside him, for he stood a head above her and had breadth of shoulder besides. She smiled across to Caerla, seated on his other side. Her sister had taken pains with her appearance, but the result could not have been more unfortunate. Braiding and twining her hair about her head did tame its unruliness but also drew attention to Caerla’s short neck. Her cream gown of finest silk played against the tawny color of her hair, but washed out her complexion.
Beside Caerla red-headed Perthmon, the oldest of her brothers, slanted a gleaming glance from his dark eyes at her before turning back to his conversation with King Devlon. Of them all, Perth understood her best. He would know, even if no one told him, how she felt about marrying Raefe.
Next to King Devlon sat her mother, a well-groomed miracle of composure whom Aewen could not credit as the same woman who had struck her with such passion.
Her father rested one arm about Mother as he engaged King Devlon in fervent conversation. On Father’s other side, another brother, Connor, spooned pudding into his mouth with an appreciative gleam, obviously more interested in food than conversation, but then Conn was nothing if not practical. From his sturdy build to his pale blue eyes and curling brown hair, Conn took after their father.
“…and lively, would you not say?”
When Raefe’s intense blue eyes pierced hers, Aewen gave a vague nod, hoping that whatever he’d said needed no contribution on her part.
“Perhaps I shall ask permission to take you there on the morrow, then. Would that please you?”
Aewen could only nod again and smile, although the enthusiasm on Raefe’s face dimmed at her cautious response.
“Oh how wonderful. I love Lancert.” Caerla burst out, her eyes shining.
Raefe turned to her. “You’re most welcome to come along.”
Lancert? Aewen’s confusion cleared. Raefe planned to take her to Lancert. She could think of other places she’d rather visit. The hustle and bustle of the city did not strike a chord within her as it did Caerla, but any escape from Cobbleford after today’s horrible episode came as welcome.
She gave Raefe her first genuine smile since meeting him. “My thanks.”
Raefe’s smile returned, full force, reaching his eyes. Of all the people she might have found herself betrothed to, he at least seemed kind. What if she did marry him? Would that be so unpalatable? She tried to put the thought from her, but it persisted.
Servants brought food and they ate a plentiful feast of boar’s head, venison and wild onions, a salad of greenings, stewed plums, slurry nuts, and assorted puddings. Caerla carried the conversation, which centered on the delights to be found in Lancert. Aewen had naught to do but attend, smile, and nod at appropriate times. While the two laughed together over some joke that escaped Aewen, she could not help but wish Caerla had been the older sister who must be given in marriage first, so suited did her temperament seem to Raefe’s. Her betrothed lowered his voice to speak for her alone, perhaps fearful she’d become jealous of his attention to her sister. “I love exploring places like Lancert, but in the end I’m always glad to return to Darksea.”