by D. E. Morris
Connor's horse bored of the attention and turned back for the spot where he was grazing. “Yeah. When I left, she was in the process of finding another place to move the couple of dozen full blooded dragons that we've been caring for there. I don't even know if she'll be there when I get back, but I'm sure Nyx will know where to find her.”
The name Connor brought up made Lilia smile fondly. “How is your dragon? She must be so big now. It's been such a long time since you've brought her round to Altaine.”
He crossed his arms and nodded. “She's good, though not really much bigger than the last time you saw her.” Running a hand over his sparse beard, he shook his head. “It's hard to imagine her as that little drackling I met on Ironedge and rescued on Mirasean. For a long time after I brought her home to Ibays, she was like this little puppy that followed me everywhere. She'd even crawl into bed with me when she could. Now she's so independent. And nocturnal.”
Lilia's smile was teasing. “Your little girl is growing up.”
“I'm not sure I like it.”
“So Dragonspire is cleared out now, I assume, if you're housing dragons there even temporarily.”
He shook his head again. “Not by half. We got rid of all the bones and the eggshells from the areas we knew we needed right off the bat; the dragons wouldn't stay there if their caves were littered with reminders of their fallen kin. That was it. There's still a lot of work to be done...but it's absolutely beautiful there. Tall, lush trees. Waterfalls a hundred feet high. Cliffs that drop off into the ocean.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“I'd love to take you there someday.”
Unsure how to respond, Lilia looked down to try to hide her blush. She saw Connor's hand move as though he would touch her, but he pulled back in second thought.
“How's Rowan?”
Grateful yet again for a subject change, Lilia cleared her throat and bobbed her head. “She's well. Though she looks the part of a lady, she certainly doesn't act it. She does love Ashlynn, though, and it pleases her to serve her.”
“And the new girl?”
“Vala?” Lilia shrugged. “She's been at the castle for nearly ten months now and she almost feels like she is a part of us. She's from some wealthy Cierian family...the baby, I believe, which explains quite a lot.”
Connor smirked. “Do you not like her?”
“I like her just fine. She just reminds me a lot of myself when I started in Ashlynn's service. She has moments of entitlement that she no longer has the right to, serving a high queen. She relies on her big eyes and her baby face to get what she wants sometimes.” With a fleeting smile, Lilia glanced back in the direction of the grandstand. “She'll learn. Eventually. We all do.”
“She is very pretty,” Connor replied evenly. It made Lilia's eyes narrow.
“She is. She's also closer to your age. And your height.”
“Ow,” he laughed, putting a hand over his heart.
“I could introduce you, if you'd like.”
“I prefer an older woman...one whom I can look up to.”
Lilia fought a smile. “You're teasing me.”
“You make it so easy.” She hit him playfully, momentarily forgetting that they were so out in the open. Connor remembered and looked around. When he was satisfied that no one was watching them, he asked, “Do you get any time to yourself while you're here?”
She nodded, reading more into the question than what was spoken. “As long as there is at least one lady with Ashlynn at all times, we are free to wander every now and then.”
With a cheeky grin, he took her hand and wrapped it into the crook of his arm. “That sounds like the perfect job for the new girl, then. Shall we?” With a curtsy of respect, Lilia giggled and walked beside him, out of the horse pen and into the surrounding crowds.
Chapter Two
As the days of the festival went on, there were various competitions in which several familiar faces tested their prowess. Despite her injury, Cailin had signed herself up for several hand to hand combat events. She was not as quick on her feet as she had once been, but what she lacked in speed she made up for in controlled aggression. In team events, she and Killian tagged one another out in rounds fought first with swords, then axes, and finally maces. Later, in the group melee, the two of them stayed together and took down much of their competition as a team, working in unison like choreographed dancers.
“Goodness,” said Vala from the grandstand, her eyes on the massive group of people fighting one another. “Cailin and Killian certainly make a fine pair.”
Rowan, unable to see what Vala was watching, lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”
The older girl tilted her head to the side, trying to keep track of them among the commotion. “They fight as though they have done so side by side their entire lives. Each movement is almost in anticipation of a movement from one another.”
“Any warrior worth their armor would fight in the same manner,” Rowan countered. “My da has been training with Cailin for five or so years now. Of course they work well together. Plus, they're both Ibayish. That gives them a distinct advantage.”
Vala smirked and shook her head. “Cierians are strong fighters as well. I only mean to say that if they make a good match on the field, would they not also make a good match in marriage? They are both as yet unwed, and Cailin is of an age where-”
“You would do well to hold your tongue now.”
Wessely's comment was gentle enough, but there was a no-nonsense look about him as he gazed out over the melee. Only he remained in the grandstand with Ashlynn, Kenayde, and their ladies. Jaryn, Cavalon, and Elas were down in the chaotic mock battle, and everyone else was off on their own.
Chastened, Vala bowed her head. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I only meant that-”
“It matters little what you did or did not mean.” Wessely glanced over his shoulder at the two girls, Ashlynn and Kenayde stoic beside him as though trying not to give anything away with their expressions. “There is gossip enough when we are home. You need not start more or perpetuate it here.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The young woman took a slow breath in, her lips pressed together in a thoughtful line. Barely half a minute passed before she looked up once more, her brows together. “Only that is what I meant, King Wessely. There are so many rumors and such gossip at court about Cailin, not to mention Killian and the high queen.”
“Vala.” Ashlynn's commanding voice was clear and crisp in its icy tone. “Do as my father says and hold your tongue. If you wish to remain in my services you would do well to learn some restraint. Keep your private thoughts private. At the very least, save them for those who wish to hear them when you are not in the company of those who clearly do not.”
Color burned on Vala's cheeks. “Yes, Your Majesty. Please forgive me.”
“I will forgive you when I sense even a small amount of contrition in your voice.” With an irritated sigh, Ashlynn searched down among the moving bodies. “Now that I have lost track of my husband...”
Kenayde lifted a hand and pointed. “He is just there, by the woman with the blue shield. Oh, Ashlynn, he looks to be bleeding.”
She shook her head. “Yes, well, this is Jaryn we are speaking of. I doubt he would consider it a well fought match if he had not walked away with some injury or another.”
“And there he goes getting his legs knocked out from under him,” Kenayde winced. “That will leave a mark.”
Over at the athletic field, Cavalon was waiting his turn to throw a fifty-six-pound weight over an iron bar that had been fastened between two wooden poles fifteen feet from the ground. Nuala, Lochlainn, and Lucien observed from the grandstand with her retinue. Lilia was there as well, sitting beside her cousin to watch the various matches.
When it was Cavalon's turn at the weight, Lucien cheered loudly, making the Badarian grin. He picked up the weight, dangling it between his legs as the others before him had done, and glanced up at the bar overhead.
When he had a good idea of how hard to toss, he swung the weight once beside him, then once between his legs before giving a loud grunt and throwing the weight as high as he could. It rose and arced, sailing easily over the bar and gaining him abundant applause for his efforts.
Soon enough, the bar was raised not once, but two more times before no one could get the weight over. Cavalon walked away with the first-place spot at eighteen feet, and took a quick break before moving on to the heavy weight toss.
“This is going to take all day, isn't it?” Lilia asked, eyeing the field. She could see the long tree trunk that sat in wait for the caber toss. There were men getting equipment together for the hammer toss as well, several of them in kilts. “Are they actually going to wear those for the rest of the events?”
Nuala followed her gaze with question. “They wore them during the last competition.”
“Yes, but there was no spinning.” She glanced over to where the weight toss was going on and watched a well-muscled man in unusually tight trousers grab the weight. He swung it forward, then twisted as he brought it back to swing it behind himself before bringing it back once more. Spinning with the natural forward motion of the weight, he letting it go to sail over the field. Lilia cringed. “There are kilted men in line for this event. No one wants to see what is under there.”
Though Nuala laughed, Lochlainn turned in his seat to look at Lilia. “They wear hose under their kilts.”
“What?”
The little boy nodded and pointed to the man taking up position to throw the weight next. His pleated kilt was mainly blue with white and burgundy crosshatching. When he spun, his kilt swirled around him, unfolding like a fan, revealing a red and white checked hose that had been rolled up to the middle of his thighs.
“The hose is worn for protection and modesty.” When the two adults looked at him with raised brows, he shrugged and turned back to the competition. “My father told me.”
“Well that is certainly a relief,” Lilia breathed, watching another man take his turn. “Some of these men do not look to be the type whose mystery I want revealed.”
“Look,” said Nuala. She inclined her head toward a small group of men off to the side who were getting a feel for the weight of a large stone. They took turns picking it up, tossing it heavily in their hands, resting it against the side of their necks and holding it there as they pretended to throw it. “That is the Braemar stone.”
Now it was Lucien who looked at the adults. “Why is it called a Braemar stone, Mère?”
“A long time ago, Siness and Braemar used to be together on one piece of land. In fact, Braemar was considered a part of Siness.”
“It was one of the bigger and richer lesser kingdoms,” Lilia supplied.
Nodding, Nuala continued. “Back then, Siness had games like these quite frequently. In fact, most of the competitions the athletes are participating in on this field have Sinessian origins. The kingdom of Braemar hosted one of the largest and also one of the last before the continents split. It was there that the stone throw originated, thus the stone was named after the kingdom.”
Lochlainn tilted his head, his dark blonde brows furrowing together. “Is that why your capital has the same name as your country?”
“That is correct, and very astute of you, Lochlainn.”
The little boy beamed at her, then leaned over towards Lucien's chair and whispered, “What does that word mean?” Lucien only shrugged, and the pair went back to watching the games.
With a bored sigh, Lilia looked around the field. “I want to see the hammer toss and the caber toss, but all of these other silly throwing matches bore me.”
“You are free to go,” Nuala reminded. “From what Cavalon told me, those two events will not be until tomorrow for his group. It is only the amateurs today.”
Glad to take her up on the offer Lilia looked at her cousin, then to Lochlainn. “Right,” said the younger woman. “I am going to see if the melee is still going on and if your mother needs me. Be mindful of High Queen Nuala.”
“He always is,” the winged queen told her. “Usually more than my own son.”
In the afternoon, when most of the competitions had halted for the day and there was nothing to do but socialize, Ashlynn walked the village grounds without her usual company. Though there were always guards with her, they were as constant as her own shadow and it was easy to forget they were there. While everyone else was resting from the day or getting ready for another night of revelry, she wanted to take the quiet time to be with her son. They saw each other so often at home, but here it felt as though they hardly saw one another at all. Throughout the previous week, there were nights when meetings and discussions went well past the setting of the sun, and she was unable to return to her quarters even to tuck Lochlainn in at night. Even now they had different interests. He was still so young but already so independent and sure of himself. If there were events he was interested in watching or learning more about, the last thing she wanted to do was discourage his curiosity. Sometimes that meant they ended up at different places watching separate events. It was wonderful to hear him retell his day to her at night when she and Jaryn tucked him away for bed. Out of everything she'd done and seen, it was her favorite part of all of it.
They had found their way to one of the paddocks where two horses were being kept. They were smaller than the jousting horses and much more even tempered. As Ashlynn and Lochlainn approached the fences, they both came over in search of some sort of treat that might be hiding in their hands. The attention made Lochlainn giggle, which brought a smile to his mother's face. Most days he was far too serious for his age. Then there were times, like now, when she saw him for the child he truly was, and it made her heart joyous.
“Tell me what you did today, heartling.”
Lochlainn draped his arms over the fence as the horses shuffled away. “Right now? What about Papa?”
Ashlynn brushed the hair from his forehead. “He won't mind if you tell me now, and I won't mind hearing it again later.”
“I had candied orange peels.”
“You did?” Her eyes widened. “Who thought you were deserving of something so delicious?”
He looked up at her, uncertain, but started to grin when he saw the laughter in her eyes. “Rowan bought some for me and Lucien.”
“She spoils you boys.”
With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the horses. “She's a good foster sister.”
“Yes, she is.”
The distinct monotone drone of the bagpipes began somewhere close by, followed by random notes being played at a pace that bordered on frantic. Already, people were preparing for the festivities of the evening. Ashlynn watched the way Lochlainn squinted his eyes and looked around, trying to find the source of the music. She knew all too well that the piper could be on the other side of the field the way the sound carried and echoed off the hills and mountains around them.
“Does Papa play the bagpipes?”
“Yes, he does. He learned how to play the lute first, the pipes second.”
Lochlainn looked up at her. “What else?”
She took a breath and wrapped her fingers around the topmost post of the paddock, thinking. “The hurdy gurdy, the psaltery, the harp...the list goes on.” With a smirk, she looked down at Lochlainn. “You know how it seems like Tasarin speaks every language in the known world? Your father is a bit like that with instruments.”
“Ah, but does he know how to play the mbira?”
Both of them turned at the sound of a new voice, deep with a whispery undertone. “Badru!” Lochlainn saw him before Ashlynn did and scrambled to his feet. As he ran toward Badru, Ashlynn held out her hand almost subconsciously to tell her guards that all was well and they need not worry. She watched with a light heart as her son was swept up by the older man, lost in his colorful robes as he wrapped Lochlainn in an embrace.
“My, you have grown!” the older man exclaimed. “You are almost too big to pick u
p like this anymore.”
“I will be six in a few months,” Lochlainn proudly reported as his feet were set back on the ground. “Lucien is already six. He likes being older than me.”
Badru laughed. “I am certain he does.” Turning his warm gaze to Ashlynn, he took her hands in his own and kissed her cheek in greeting.
“I was wondering how long it would be until we saw you again.” Though Ashlynn's tone was chiding, her small smile gave away the teasing intention of her words. “It has been...goodness...almost a year.”
He nodded, his face clouding. “Yes, it has been too long. It was never my intent to stay away, but certain events transpired at home that kept me close to my family for a time.”
Ashlynn touched his arm, concerned. “Is everything all right?”
He let go of a sorrowful sigh, but nodded. “One of the mothers of my children passed away suddenly. She became ill seemingly overnight and left us not even two weeks later.”
“Oh, Badru. I am so terribly sorry.”
“Thank you.”
His brow wrinkled, Lochlainn looked up at Badru. “How many wives do you have?”
Ashlynn looked at Badru with wide eyes and smirk of surprise on her face. Turning to her son, she nodded back in the direction from which they had come. “I think it is time we head back. We will need to be ready for the feast soon.”
“Okay.” He turned wordlessly and waved to the horses, then led the way back with the confidence of a commander at the head of his army. Ashlynn and Badru fell into step together behind him. Their pace was slow and often halting as some thing or another grabbed Lochlainn's attention and made him stop to investigate.
“What brings you up to Caedia?” she asked, her fingers laced casually before her as they walked.
“I was aware of the great gathering and decided it would be a good time to visit. I have no mind for the talk of politics and policies that went on last week, but when there is food and festivities involved, you can be certain to find me there somewhere.”
She smirked. “Cavalon probably feels the same way, but he had no choice in the matter.”