“To confront him.”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Then I will aid you.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you. I only wanted you to know, because you’re... you’re the king, or should be.”
Darrick chuckled. “If I am ever going to be king, then I will not be one who hides in their keep on an island while others do what they will not. Oakenwell will tell us where to find him, and how to get him alone.”
“You believe him, then? Oakenwell?”
“He is not the only one in horror of the choices their lord has made on their behalf. He came here to aid us against his own men not because he is a traitor, but because a traitor has ordered them to do things that go against their conscience.”
“We must free the Saleen, Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
Brandyn didn’t voice aloud his secret hope; that if they were met with victory, and the Saleen were again free, perhaps he could convince the Medvedev who held Gabrianna and Meadow prisoner to release them.
“We have no choice? But to go after Mortain?”
Darrick nodded. “If we don’t, then our ride on Whitechurch will be futile, for Mortain will finally send his Medvedev slaves to battle. We can probably defend ourselves against the meager Quinlanden Guard remaining in Whitechurch, but not against the numbers he’s rumored to have amassed with the Saleen.”
“I don’t understand,” Brandyn said. “Something has been bothering me since I learned what they did to the Medvedev.”
“What is it?”
“Why enslave them only for them to sit idle in the forest? Why has he not deployed them yet?”
Darrick sighed. “And this, Brandyn, is the question that stands between me and restful nights.”
* * *
Jesse dropped his sword belt on the chair. He didn’t bother hanging it. A strange thrill passed through him as he hurried through the house, searching for Esmerelda. It was, he thought, a ripple of purpose, such as he’d only believed he’d known before now. Ryan was alive. He was free. Esmerelda was carrying his child, and they deserved to be a family, just as they’d wanted. As they’d endured all of this for.
Jesse was the one who could link these worlds.
He flew up the stairs, calling her name. “Esmerelda!” Breathless, he ducked into her room. She wasn’t there, and her bed was made. This was curious, as she rarely bothered to make it anymore with how often she was bedridden. He started to leave, to search the next one, but his eyes locked on how orderly everything was. Her clothing was no longer laid out on the bench in the corner. The tables were clear of her hairpins and other things Jesse had teased her about not needing.
“Esmerelda?” he called out the door. He leaned over the railing, eyes scanning the lower floor. The situation was the same. It no longer had the lived-in feel he’d come to find welcoming when returning each evening from the Mule. The floors were pristine, the furniture smooth and ready for new tenants. Even the coals had been removed from the fire, and the hearth dusted.
“Ravenna?” Jesse forced himself farther down the hall, where he found Ravenna’s room had also been stripped of the signs of recent life. Her satchel, too, was missing.
“Guardians,” he whispered, moving to his own room, which was untouched from how he’d left it. The only living space that betrayed anyone had been here recently at all. He sank down on his bed, bowing over, thinking. So they’d left. But why? And to where? It made no sense that they’d gone anywhere together, given the animosity between them. Yet they were both gone.
Esmerelda had decided to return to Ryan on her own. The idea came upon him suddenly, and once it did, it seemed obvious. But he’d promised her he would take her, so why go without him? Why, when she knew the path would be dangerous and was afraid to be alone? Had Ravenna promised her protection that Esmerelda didn’t believe she could get from him?
Jesse quickly gathered his own things. He didn’t have time for the extra touches the women had taken to tidy the space, but Easlan would have to forgive him. If he moved swiftly enough, he would catch up to them within a day. They couldn’t be far ahead. He’d seen them here just that morning. Their trail would still be warm enough to follow.
He secured his bag to the saddle. It was then he noticed two of the horses were gone, something he hadn’t seen when he’d arrived home. He wondered how many other signs he’d missed over the preceding days. Signs that could have helped him to see this coming and prevent it.
Jesse rode swiftly into town. He couldn’t leave without telling Easlan why they’d disappeared in such a rush. But as he neared the Mule, the rush of frenzied energy from all the men gathering, saddling horses, checking steel, overwhelmed his senses. Horses neighing, leather buckled and strapped, skins being refilled and ales emptied. The men were abuzz, come to life with the promise of war, and the uncertain temptation of victory. Their blood was hot now, but they did not think of how quickly it could cool. They thought only of fulfilling within them that pull that was both sacred and innate; a man’s right to defend what is his, against any foe, against any odds.
“Jesse.” Rutland rode forward and nodded at him. “Where’s your armor?”
“I’m not joining you.”
“No? Your father is. Lord Warwick has already sent the scout. Steward Strong will lead the army that’s to ride north into Whitechurch.”
“So Lord Warwick’s nay gonna fight him on it, then?”
Rutland shrugged. He looked back toward the whooping and hollering men. “I suppose he sees some wisdom in the boy’s way. The Warwick Guard is strong. It will draw Quinlanden’s men back to the Easterlands when they see they’ve left their own land open for the taking, and will allow us a proper defense should the sorcerer deploy the Medvedev. Nye and Bradford will have their own men coming up from the south through Greystone to aid in dispersing the red and gold from the Westerland cities and villages. If the Northerlands answer our call, they’ll be spread along the border to decide things before the red and gold can reach either side.”
Jesse nodded. “A fair plan, from the sounds of it. I will join you, when I can. I have something I must attend to first.”
Rutland’s face creased with suspicion. “Something more important than a war for the future of the realm?”
“I... I can’t explain it right now.” Jesse tugged on the reins and spurred his mare back to action. “Please, tell Easlan! I’ll come back when I can!”
Jesse pressed his horse into a gallop and rode away from the Rutland and the Long-Trodden Mule.
29
Dain
“Lisbet, we must find calm in order to find answers. I’m sure there’s a rational reason for all this,” Eavan said, using the same obnoxiously soothing tone Lisbet’s mother employed when everything was wrong and she wasn’t ready for her children to know it.
“Drystan and Valen are gone. We have already searched the entire boundary of our prison. They are not here. Days they’ve been missing, days we’ve been searching. They could not have gone far, as we’re still prisoners. So where are they?”
Eavan dropped down onto the fur-covered cot. “I don’t know. But your insinuation that Kian or Yseult would hurt them is unfounded. They would never do such a thing. Not ever.”
Lisbet snickered. “It would not be the first time you underestimated your so-called friends.”
Tears glistened in Eavan’s eyes. “They were my friends. And I curse my father for taking that, too, from me.”
Lisbet softened. “Things have changed. Yes, you can thank your father for them changing, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t changed.” She pointed toward the flap in their tent. “You do understand that, don’t you? That they have probably taken my brother and Valen? Kian knew Drystan would be gone, and he was. He knew that because they’ve taken him.”
Eavan gazed down at the hands in her lap and nodded. “Much has changed. Including something I haven’t had the heart to tell you.”
Lisbet softly sigh
ed and joined her on the cot. She gathered her cousin in her arms and pulled her close. “I already know, Eavan. I didn’t want to make you speak of it if you weren’t ready.”
Eavan’s hair shook as she buried her head further into Lisbet’s shoulder. “I’m not ready now.”
“Okay.” Lisbet kissed her forehead, brushing blond hairs aside. “When you are, we’ll talk about what needs to be done.”
Eavan looked up. “What needs to be done?”
“I see no men here to tell us. So it will be you who decides, as it should be.” Lisbet unwrapped herself from Eavan and stood. “Kian has ignored me for days, but he needs something from me. He and his mother both do. He will come for me again, and when he does, I intend to find out what they’ve done with Drystan and Valen, or die for the effort. But I will not return here without answers.”
“What can I do?”
“Keep Meadow and Gabi calm about this. I can’t bear their tears and fear right now, and neither can you. Maintain the lie, for as long as we can. They’ve gone on an extended hunt. That’s all.”
Eavan wiped at her eyes, nodding. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here. You’re so strong, Lisbet. In ways I could never be.”
Lisbet softly smiled. “Nonsense. We are all given the strength we need, when we need it. You’re sitting here because you found yours when something unspeakable was happening to you. And when your days are dark, Eavan, you only need say so because I’ll remind you of this truth until my breath runs out.”
* * *
Their steps were slow. Drystan knew their pace would not be what it was before they arrived in the Hinterlands, without their horses to carry them, but now he endured the grueling desperation of knowing he should be farther along than he was. They hadn’t crossed into the Easterlands and he was afraid to ask Valen how long before they would, because the answer might dishearten him. He could abide nothing to dissuade him from the stirring in his heart that prompted him onto this path.
Ash incessantly cast anxious glances over his shoulder, or to the left and right of them, eyes darting in search of any number of unseen dangers. He didn’t believe Drystan, not all the way. Not yet. He still expected the Medvedev to come accost them and return them to the invisible prison in the Drumain lands.
But though he’d had no one to tell him this, he instinctively knew they were past Drumain lands now, and into Saleen. A pall of sadness hit him when they’d crossed the unseen barrier. At first, he’d worked to shrug it off, for he could have nothing holding him back. Then he remembered that it was the Saleen he was doing this for. The Saleen and all Medvedev who wished to live in peace. Once he embraced this, he was further emboldened with each lift of his worn boots, and his journey became at least somewhat easier to bear.
“Do you have a plan?” Ash asked. His eyes still darted out into the forest, waiting for something to stop them. “For when we get there?”
“I’ll get Mortain alone and kill him.”
Ash wanted to laugh. Drystan felt it. “You make that sound as if it will be easy.”
“I don’t expect it to be easy. I expect you to help me navigate Whitechurch so I can craft a plan to get him alone.”
“Even if you do, Mortain is more powerful than anyone you’ve ever encountered before. You cannot simply poke him with the sharp end of your sword.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, Drystan, I—”
“You are,” Drystan said, quickening his pace. “And if you are my father, as you say, then your ever changing behavior toward me is all the more confusing.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Drystan laughed. His breath unfurled in small clouds before him as he huffed. The weather had grown colder as they neared the coast. “One moment you are teaching me, nurturing me. The next, you treat me no better than you would an annoyance. A flea, landing upon your arm, lacking the intelligence to know you’ll take its life in the next moment.”
“I don’t think of you that way at all. I do think your mother would have my head if I let you walk into Whitechurch without knowing precisely what you’re going to do when you get there.” Ash stopped moving. “There is something else I wanted to tell you. It didn’t seem important before, and perhaps it isn’t now, but as you already think I keep things from you, I won’t keep this.”
Drystan halted without turning. He closed his eyes, sighing inwardly. “Another secret, then.”
“It’s not a secret, though few know of it.”
“Then say it, so we can get on with things.”
“I’m a Sylvaine only in name,” Valen said. He stepped closer so he was now beside Drystan. He looked at him. “I was taken in by Steward Sylvaine when I was very young. I don’t remember anything before them, and I have never met my birth family. They were probably indigents, without a coin to their name and not a lick of means to rear a child. Children are born all over this kingdom who are unwanted or to parents who can’t care for them every day. I only know Stewardess Sylvaine was barren, and my father came home one day with me. When I was older, they told me the truth, for they both were darker featured, and I, with my reddish hair, was a clear standout. But they loved me as their own, and I was happy in their home, as their only son. I would have contentedly taken my father’s place, as the Steward of Rushwood, had circumstances not drawn me down another path.”
“Why did you think I should know this?”
“It’s your truth, too. You deserve to know it.”
“Fine. I know it, now. Can we continue?”
Ash looked sad as he pointed his hand forward. “After you, Drystan.”
* * *
“Have you considered what you saw in here?”
Lisbet jumped off the small altar. She enjoyed Kian’s confused recoil as she approached him on his mother’s throne. She’d waited for him to settle into their routine. If she’d confronted him in the forest, he would’ve had more of his defenses ready, or sent her back to wait even longer.
“It’s my turn for answers, Kian.”
“So you have seen more?”
“I don’t care about the magic right now! I want to know where my brother is. I want to know what you’ve done with him!”
Kian cast a nervous glance at the door. “Ah, this is too soon. You were meant to see this, not be told.”
“See what exactly?”
“The truth.”
Lisbet snickered. “You and the truth are not well acquainted.”
“It is not for someone to hold or release the truth of another. The truth of an individual must be found within themselves.”
“Mother’s blood, do you know how that sounds? No one would ever know a thing if you were king of this world. Now, tell me where Drystan is!”
Kian bowed his head into his hands. “You were supposed to see it. I do not know why you haven’t yet. Perhaps your worry has clouded your awakening? I cannot say. But now that Drystan has departed us—”
“Departed? What does that mean?”
“He is gone. Not here. And the time is now. On that, Mother was clear.”
“Time for what?”
“For you to leave.” Kian looked up. “Sit. I shall tell you, though it is not the way. Not our way.”
Lisbet had another bitter remark loaded, but what she wanted more than to sting him was for him to tell her about Drystan. Had she heard him right, that he wanted her to leave? It was almost funny, a gaoler telling a prisoner to leave, but nothing about what was happening—that terrible, sad look in Kian’s eyes, what appeared to be genuine pain at what was coming—seemed worthy of laughter.
“I’m listening,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Your brother left for Whitechurch. Ash joined him. They intend to take the life of Mortain the sorcerer. We allowed them to leave. For this was why they had come, even if they did not know it when they arrived.”
Lisbet gaped at him. “They what?”
“Your brother and Ash are awakening, as you
are. And you are not the only ones. Drystan’s awakening will take him to Whitechurch, where he will attempt what I have already told you. Either way, he will die. If he is given his truth, the truth of who he truly is, this distraction will lead him to failure. If he dies in ignorance of this truth, he will succeed.”
Lisbet’s breath caught high in her throat, so high she almost choked on it. “No. I don’t believe you. Drystan could never hurt anyone, not even a man of great evil like Mortain. He would...” Her breath released and now she struggled to return it. “He can’t die. He’s not even a man yet. And what do you mean, who he really is?”
“Your brother kept a secret from you,” Kian said coolly. “When you were first taken by my mother’s guards, Valen revealed to Drystan that he was his blood father. Not Holden Dereham. That Valen’s true name was Drystan Sylvaine, known as Ash by most, and also now by you, and that he had loved your mother against nature and law, and Drystan was the result of this forbidden love.”
Lisbet couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s mad. My mother wouldn’t have done that to my father.”
“Drystan was still a babe when Ash pretended to take her herbs and die upon her floor. Except he did not die. Only to her was he dead.”
Lisbet gasped. “The blacksmith’s apprentice who died in her chambers?”
“Yes.”
“What a load of wulf shit! My mother didn’t even know that man!”
“You can flail in your acceptance of it, but Drystan is Ash’s son. Drystan himself has already accepted his truth, if not on the surface then deep down, where the truths of all of us live. But what Ash did not tell him, for he could not, was the deeper truth of who both men are. Ash is not a Sylvaine. He was ripped from another childhood and placed with the steward and his wife, where he grew in ignorance.”
“It surprises me not that the man is a nobody.”
“Ash Sylvaine is Dain Rhiagain.”
The Broken Realm Page 35