Forest of Firelight

by Shari L. Tapscott

“Rhys—”

  “He hit you,” the huntsman growls, his hand—the hand that just killed that man—gently caressing my cheek.

  I wince when he reaches a tender spot. “I’m all right.”

  Slowly, the rest of our surroundings come back to me.

  The fight appears to be over. Several men mill around, and I recognize none of them. I don’t know if they’re friend or foe, but from the way Rhys seems to relax when we survey the scene, I assume they’re the ones who came to our aid.

  “Gage is hurt,” one of them says, leaning over my cousin’s body.

  I stifle a gasp and stumble away from Rhys.

  “Gage,” I breathe, dropping to the ground beside him.

  “I’m fine,” my cousin says, his eyes closed.

  He’s not fine—he has a long gash in his leg.

  Thankfully, one of the newcomers wraps his shirt around the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

  The blond-haired man looks up and gives me a cheeky grin. “He’ll be all right. Lucky it didn’t hit an artery.”

  I stare at him, breathing hard. Several seconds pass as I run my eyes over the men.

  They watch me with familiar expressions—as if they know me even though I’ve never seen them in my life.

  “Who are you?” I finally blurt out.

  28

  The men exchange glances as if they’re unsure how to answer.

  “They’re friends of mine,” Rhys says, kneeling next to me. He gently takes my head and turns it toward him. “Gage is going to be fine. I need to know if you’re all right.”

  I turn away, scanning the men once more. “How did they…?”

  “We knew where the bandits liked to attack, so we followed them on the off-chance Rhys couldn’t talk you into going around the mountains,” says the blond-haired man who wrapped Gage’s leg. He frowns at Rhys. “Guess you couldn’t.”

  Rhys shakes his head, looking less than pleased.

  “Thankfully, most of them high-tailed it when Lewis shot the archer,” says a boy who can’t be more than sixteen. He laughs. “Brave lot.”

  “Amalia,” Rhys says, drawing my attention back. “Are you okay?”

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His frown deepens. “This sort of thing can be…unsettling.”

  I pause. To be honest, I’m still a bit muddled. As the fog lifts, specific details come to the forefront of my mind…and I remember what I did. I cringe at the memory and wipe my tongue on the back of my hand in the most ungenteel manner possible, nearly gagging.

  “Amalia?” Rhys demands.

  “I bit him.” I jerk my head toward the dead bandit, but I don’t have the stomach to look at him. “It was…awful.”

  Suddenly, Rhys laughs—loudly.

  I stare at him, mesmerized. I’ve never heard him laugh. It’s a deep sound, warm and real. It tugs at my heart and warms the ice in my stomach.

  Soon, the others join him.

  “We need to get moving before they come back with reinforcements,” the blond-haired man says.

  Rhys nods. Tryndon and a massive man with shaggy brown hair lift Gage onto the back of his horse. My cousin slumps forward, awake but looking a bit groggy.

  “Can you ride?” the big man asks him.

  “I’ll manage.”

  We travel in near silence. Now and then, Rhys’s friends mention something about the weather or game in the area, but even those conversations are fleeting.

  The sun is just sinking behind the trees when we begin to see signs of the village—a cottage here, a shanty there. From the looks of it, Shale is a mining town. The roads are dirt, and the buildings are functional. Only the inn, which sits in the very middle of the village, looks well-kept.

  It’s several stories tall, made of dark timbers. A porch wraps around the lower level, and there’s glass in the windows. Several large pine trees tower above the structure, close enough that if there were a strong wind, a bough might go right through a window.

  “The doctor is here,” Rhys says to me, nodding toward the carriage parked out front. “I’ll see if I can find him. Stay with Tryndon.”

  I glance at the newcomers to our party, unsure. There’s an edge to them—something hardened. Except for the boy, they’re imposing and strong. Almost like a band of knights.

  “They won’t bother you,” Rhys assures me when he sees my reluctance, and then he dismounts and hands his horse to Cabe. “Care for Amalia’s horse as well.”

  “Yes, cousin,” the boy says, bowing his head.

  Rhys enters the inn, and his men begin to dismount. Gage tries to get down himself, but the large man—Braith—chuckles. “You just wait up there for a few minutes. What good is it hobbling around on one leg?”

  Gage nods. His face is paler than I like, but at least he’s conscious.

  Tryndon comes up next to me and holds my mare so I can dismount. I’m sore from riding most of the day, but I must be growing used to the long hours in the saddle. I’m not nearly as fatigued as I was when we arrived in Kippert the morning after we left Kenrow.

  “I’m starving,” Tryndon says to me, happy to make small talk while Rhys is inside. “This seems like a nice little inn. Are you cold?”

  It’s frigid at the top of the mountain. The breeze still carries a winter bite, and snow blankets all but the main road.

  “A bit,” I admit.

  “I’ll take you inside.” He gives me a bright smile. “They’ll have a nice fire going, and you can warm your hands. We’ll find something to eat, and you can tell me all about how you took out your first bandit.”

  I study him for a moment, biting my lip. “Are you sure you’re Rhys’s brother?”

  He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. “It’s the strangest thing—I get that all the time.”

  “Stop flirting with the girl,” Aeron says, shaking his head as if disgusted. The man’s hair is so dark, it’s almost black, but his skin is fair. He has a pretty face, the kind girls sigh over, but just like Rhys, there’s a coldness about him. “She’s not meant for you.”

  The words make me pause—or rather, the way he says them. Like he knows whom I’m meant for. I turn to him, frowning. Before I can ask what he means by that, Rhys walks out with Kent at his side.

  Kent jogs down the steps, hurrying to Gage. He takes a quick look at the shirt wrapped around my cousin’s leg and shakes his head. “Ran into a bit of trouble, did you?”

  “Looks like we found another group of bandits,” Gage says, forcing a weak laugh.

  Kent motions to Braith and Lewis. With doctorly authority, he commands, “Get him down, take him inside.”

  “We’ll go around the back,” Rhys says quietly, coming up next to me. “Kent’s sister is taking tea by the fire.”

  I nod, though I’m reluctant to leave Gage.

  “I’m really all right to do it myself,” Gage protests as Braith comes up and loops a huge arm around his back, pulling him from his saddle like a rag doll. “Oh…well. All right then…”

  “He’s in good hands,” Rhys promises, taking my arm. He leads me around the back, through the snow, into the shade of the pines. It’s even colder back here.

  There’s a well not far away, in an open clearing in the trees. A trail has been worn into the snow between it and the back door. We climb up the porch and stomp the snow from our boots.

  It’s warm inside, and it smells like heaven—if heaven were to smell like honey butter and freshly baked bread. At this moment, I’m positive it does.

  We step into a kitchen. I expect the woman by the hearth to shoo us out, but she only turns when we enter and gives us a smile.

  “Does the food taste as good as it smells?” I ask Rhys at a whisper.

  He looks at me as if confused.

  “You were just here—surely you remember?” I say with a laugh.

  “Oh…it was fine.” He leads me up a narrow flight of stairs.

  The upper level looks down on the main room,
and doors line the upper balcony. I peek over the railing, and sure enough, Lestra sits next to the massive stone hearth, regally sipping tea. The porcelain is lovely, and the furniture is polished and upholstered. The entire inn is far nicer than I had expected.

  After a moment, I follow Rhys. He opens a door, and he motions me inside. A fire burns in the small hearth, warm and welcoming. The bed is covered with a quilt made of many different colors, and a fleece blanket lies neatly folded at the end.

  And more, there’s room to move about. It’s not a cupboard parading as a room—it’s an actual room.

  I run my hand along the quilt, sighing contentedly. “It’s possible my standards have lowered in this brief time away from home. I cannot imagine a more welcome sight.”

  “Perhaps that’s the reason for the Requeamare,” Rhys says from behind me.

  I turn to face him, and my eyes fall to his shoulder. “Kent needs to tend that.”

  “The leather slowed the arrow. It’s not much more than a scratch.”

  “Rhys, please.”

  He looks like he wants to argue, but he gives in. “I’ll see him.”

  “We’re fortunate he’s here.”

  Rhys doesn’t look like he entirely agrees with that statement.

  “We should have listened to you about the bandits,” I say softly, avoiding his eyes. “You’re injured because we didn’t heed your warning. I’m sorry.”

  Ignoring me, Rhys examines my face, his fingers gently prodding my cheek. I close my eyes, overwhelmed by everything that’s happened today.

  “Please, Amalia, tell me the truth,” he says. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m a little bruised and sore, but it’s nothing a hot bath and sleep won’t cure.”

  He lowers his hand, and I open my eyes, missing the contact. Maybe everything is finally catching up with me. I feel cold and numb, and tears prick my eyes several hours too late.

  “They knew who I was, didn’t they?” I ask, blinking several times to chase away the dampness that threatens to spill over. “They were waiting for me.”

  Slowly, Rhys nods.

  I turn away, hoping he doesn’t notice how distraught I’ve become. “You knew about it, didn’t you? That’s why you told us to take the long way around the mountains?”

  “Rupert is with them.”

  I pause in the middle of dabbing away the moisture with my finger and give Rhys a sideways look. “With the bandits?”

  “Yes.”

  It seems he wants to say more—no, not wants but should—but he doesn’t go on.

  “Do you think…” I swallow. My throat feels as if it’s tightening, and words are difficult. “Are they the men who killed Braeton?”

  Rhys winces like he doesn’t want to have this conversation. “No.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I followed them to their camp. I didn’t hear them speak of your eldest brother.”

  I frown, thinking his words over. Turning from him, I walk to the fire. “Is that what you were really doing when you left? Scouting the woods?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…those men. Where did they come from?”

  “They’re my men.”

  “Your men?” I turn back. “As in, you’re their leader?”

  He stands straighter and nods again.

  “Rhys…” I whisper. “Are you a bandit?”

  The brief smile that crosses his face eases my worry, if only a little.

  “No.”

  “Then what are you?”

  Rhys’s eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I trust him to tell the truth.

  “I’m a knight, he says.

  “You mean a guard?”

  “A knight.”

  “We don’t have knights, not since the creation of the Chasm,” I say slowly, trying to understand. “We have no reason for them…do we?”

  He stays quiet, waiting for me to work this out myself.

  I press my hand to my forehead. “I’m going to be queen, and I know nothing about my kingdom. We have knights—secret knights. Which means we have something to fight. Rhys…what do you fight?”

  With a sigh, he crosses the room and places his hands on my shoulders. I’m so surprised by the contact; I go still against him, afraid if I move, he’ll release me.

  “Darkness,” he says softly.

  The way he says the word chills me. It’s as though I have never fully understood the true meaning of it before now. To me, dark means night. Night is merely the companion to day—there’s nothing in the night that isn’t there in the light.

  Except…there was once.

  “The orchard,” I murmur. “The trees—the spirits dwelling in them. Is that what you mean? Is there more of that?”

  “There is.”

  It’s too much. Without any warning, I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist. It’s been a long day, and I need comfort, whether he’s willing to give it or not. He goes rigid, and I expect him to push me away. Then, as if it pains him, he wraps his arms around my back, standing like a statue.

  “Rhys?” I ask.

  “Hmm?” he answers, his chest rumbling against my cheek.

  “While you were inside, Aeron told Tryndon to stop flirting with me. He said that I’m ‘not meant for him.’ What did he mean?”

  Silent blankets the room, and the question hangs between us. After a long moment, Rhys says, “They know your identity—they know of the Requeamare.”

  “Oh,” I say, almost disappointed, though I can’t place why. “That makes sense.”

  After a moment—as if he can’t resist—he asks, “What…did you think he meant?”

  I pull away just enough to look up. “I’m not sure why, but I thought maybe…”

  Rhys’s dark green eyes lock on mine, making my stomach flutter.

  “Yes?”

  “I thought he might have meant I was intended for…” I drop my voice to a whisper. “You.”

  29

  I’m going to find Aeron, and I’m going to beat him senseless.

  “No.” I abruptly step away, missing Amalia’s warmth the moment I let her go.

  It’s the answer I wanted, but it’s the last thing I needed to hear.

  The princess forces a laugh, looking down. “It was a ridiculous notion.”

  I walk to the door, refusing to glance back. If I were to look at her now, if I were to see the embarrassment written across her face…

  Frankly, I don’t trust myself.

  Something is happening between us. I’d be a fool to deny it, but I must resist because Aeron is right. Amalia is meant for someone—the heir to Draegan. My eldest brother.

  And it’s my duty to deliver her to him.

  30

  I don’t know why I said it—I should have kept the thought to myself. I knew it was ridiculous. I’m not even sure what gave me that impression to begin with.

  “Wishful thinking?” whispers a snide voice in my head.

  I collapse on the quilt-covered bed and bury my head in my hands. I so desperately wanted Rhys to give me a reason why I could choose him.

  What’s wrong with me? The man kisses me, and suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about him.

  He’s not for me—I must remember that.

  Rhys wears danger and secrets like a cloak, and he’s the last sort of man who belongs on my father’s throne. I need a man who’s reliable, kind, empathetic, and reasonable.

  There’s a knock at my door, drawing me out of my thoughts. For a moment, I think it’s Gage. Then I realize he’s most likely bedbound. Guilt mingles with chaotic emotions—how can I be so focused on Rhys when Gage is wounded?

  I pause with my hand on the knob, realizing I should probably check to see who it is before I open it. It feels ridiculous, but after today’s attack…

  Too careful is better than careless.

  “Who is it?” I call through the door.

  “Kent.”

  I immediately open the door. The
man stands on the other side. His smile eases my concern, and I invite him in, leaving the door open.

  “How is Gage?” I ask.

  Kent stands in the doorway, reluctant to enter. He’s a proper gentleman, nothing like Rhys. Not that Rhys isn’t proper exactly. He’s just…abrupt. Frustrating. Difficult.

  Handsome.

  And he smells rather good.

  Then that kiss…

  “Amalia?” Kent asks, raising his brows.

  I snap my attention back to the doctor. “I’m sorry.”

  He shakes his head, an understanding smile lighting his eyes. “After the day you’ve had, it’s understandable you’d be a bit rattled.”

  Yes, let’s go with that.

  “Gage is doing well,” he begins, “I’ve tended his leg, and I expect it to heal nicely. He’ll need to stay off it for a few days.”

  “Can he ride?”

  “I’d prefer he didn’t. There’s room in our carriage. It would be best if he’d travel with us.”

  I think about it, wondering if there’s a downside.

  “Are you feeling like a public transport?” I joke. “First my dog and then my cousin. I’m indebted to you.”

  Kent’s eyes crinkle, and he looks away, smiling in a humble way that makes me smile myself.

  “It’s no trouble.” Then, looking hopeful, the doctor adds, “Of course, you are welcome to join us as well.”

  But we both know I won’t reveal that I’m on the Requeamare to Lestra.

  “If it’s best for Gage, I don’t see that we have a choice. Thank you for offering. I’m sure he’ll be much more comfortable with you.”

  “You won’t consider riding with us?”

  I shake my head.

  Kent glances into the hall and then lowers his voice. “I don’t like leaving you without a guardian.”

  “I’ll have Rhys,” I point out.

  The doctor frowns. “It doesn’t sound as though you’ve known him long enough to trust him so completely.”

  “I’ll be all right,” I say, touched by his concern.

  He looks like he wants to argue, but he frowns instead. “Were you hurt this afternoon?”

  “Just jostled a bit. My hand hurts a little.”