For one, he loves the king as he would a father. The reasons are plain enough, and I’m anxious to speak to Amma about his revelations. She is as mistrustful of King Galfrid as anyone, yet the man Vanni describes is not the monster Kipp believes his father to be.
I’ve also learned my mistrust of all nobles may have been misplaced. I know Vanni will not share my secrets, just as I would never share his.
Last, I now know what desire feels like, not only how it makes people behave. The stirrings I’ve experienced in the past are like ripples in the sea compared to the thunderous waves that now crash within me.
I think of him when I wake and when I lay my head down to sleep. I imagine my hand in his, the dark waves of his hair, or his thick arms encircling me. It’s why I fled from that cave, scared to remain in such close proximity to him. I know how quickly desire can spiral out of control. Many a maid, a babe in her belly, only thought to steal a simple kiss.
“When do you think Aldwine will return?”
The moon shines brightly before us, illuminating our path.
“Soon,” I say, stealing a glance at Vanni. “Though I meant what I said. He will not return to the south with you.”
I say it not to antagonize him, but because it is almost certainly the truth.
“If he does not, I fear for the kingdom.”
“Is Lord Hinton as horrible as the rumors suggest?”
I’ve heard enough over the years from traders to know he would not be an ideal leader.
“When his father, the king’s brother, died, Hinton refused to lay him to rest. Said he’d done him no favors and could rot in hell despite the fact that father and son are very much alike. The man is truly despicable. And yet, the church intends to back him anyway. It’s maddening.”
The sound of water lapping against the docks lulls us back into our companionable silence. Turning away from the water, we walk toward the outer buildings of our small village. When we hired a maidservant a few years ago, my father said he could rest easy, having achieved far more than he’d ever thought possible.
“Is that it there?” He points into the distance.
“Aye.” I stop, contemplating.
“Father would be pleased you’ve accompanied me. However . . .”
We’re just behind the mill, hidden well enough now, but we will be easily seen once we enter the open field. If we are to part ways, now would be the time.
And yet, I’m reluctant for Vanni to leave.
“I will watch you from here,” he says courteously.
“You are not what I expected.” The words leave my lips before I can think better of it.
“Our ways are different, Lady Aedre, but we can teach each other.”
That very statement proves my point. It is exactly the last thing I’d have presumed to hear from a man raised at court to serve a king.
“I’ve met few nobles, and even fewer of your ilk,” I admit.
Thankfully, Vanni does not seem inclined to leave just yet.
“We are not all bad, Aedre.” He says it softly, without censure.
My chest constricts when he takes a step toward me, tall enough that I’m forced to look up. His eyes seem to be pleading for something.
For me to believe his words, that he is not the man I thought him to be?
His lips part, and I realize his plea is of a different kind.
Although I’ve thought of this moment many times over the last few days, of what it might feel like to kiss him, I know it would be a fleeting pleasure. As he has said, he will be leaving, with or without Kipp. And yet, I want to do it anyway. I gulp the air, thick still with the remnants of the storm.
“I would kiss you, Aedre.”
I want that too. But I can’t find the words. Fine Garra I’ve proven to be. My vocation is to help others with love, only the desire I feel for this man has filled me with longing and fear.
Longing for a man who would do as right by me as he would the king he serves.
Fear at the knowledge that I would enjoy the kiss. That I would want more.
Where would such a foolhardy act leave me? With an eternal ache in my heart for what could have been had the king’s commander been any other man?
“You will leave any day,” I accuse.
“Aye.”
“How many women have you kissed in moments such as this?”
I imagine a trail of women, from Murwood down to the capital, wishing for just one more glance, one more touch, from Lord Vanni d’Abella.
“Not as many as you believe it to be.”
My questions seem to be enough of an answer for him. Vanni steps back, and the heat between us dissipates into a cold chill.
His chin rises. “Apologies, my lady.”
But he doesn’t move to leave—he’s waiting for me to walk away.
Should I tell him that my hesitation is because I fear a fleeting moment of pleasure will curse me with visions of him after he leaves? Even now, without such intimacies, I fear his face will be one I see for some time.
What could he say to that?
Nothing that would ease the sting of losing him.
And so, for the second time, I walk away. This time with a heavier heart than before. This afternoon was truly pleasurable.
“Good eve,” I mutter, grasping my skirts even more tightly as I hurry toward home. I don’t look back until I reach the gate which fences in our manor, the only home I remember. Once, we lived at the back of the forge. But as the years went on, my father and grandmother earned enough coin to build a small manor that better accommodates us all, and we moved here.
Turning, I strain to see him, but the fickle moon doesn’t cast enough light. Though I don’t see him, I do not need to. I’m as certain Vanni still waits there as I am my father and Amma will have many questions.
Well, I have questions for them as well. Though my father and grandmother disagree about my future, they’ve always held a united front in telling me powerful people have questionable motives.
Either Vanni is the rare exception or their warnings have been overzealous, making me wonder if any of my other long-held beliefs are mistaken.
Chapter Sixteen
Vanni
I hear her laughter before I see her. Not the tinkling laughter of one of the women at court, but a deep sound. A sound one could cherish, if given the chance.
I nearly reconsider my visit when a voice calls my name.
Sitting beside the forge, looking out toward the sea, a woman who must be her grandmother crooks a finger for me to come close.
Smoke billows from the building as I move toward her.
Lady Edrys has the kind of eyes that see through a person. She says nothing as I stand before her, waiting for her assessment.
“You are the commander.”
Her voice is stronger than her body. Hunched slightly, her hands knotted on her lap, the Garra reminds me of the steward’s wife at Castle d’Almerita, wise in a way that none who’ve lived a shorter time can match.
“Aye, my lady. Lord Vanni d’Abella, if it pleases you.”
Bowing, I stand as she reaches out her hand.
I take it, not knowing what to expect. She turns my palm up and holds it for some time. When she finally releases it, I feel as if she knows more of me than I do of her.
“You worry for Aedre,” I guess, knowing she’s told her grandmother a little about the time we’ve spent together.
“Always.”
I try to reassure her. “I’d not dishonor your granddaughter, despite what you think of me.”
She seems surprised by that.
“And what do I think of you, Lord d’Abella?”
My answer is swift. “That I disagree with your practice. I don’t, though, and I would never seek to harm you or Aedre.”
“Hmmm.” She does not deny it.
“I’ve a purpose here, and ’tis not to persecute anyone.”
Another “hmm” follows.
“Forgive me for be
ing forward, but Aedre seemed to believe I’d wish her harm when we first met.” Realizing I used her given name, I attempt to amend my words. “Lady Aedre. I mean no disrespect.”
“I thought I heard your voice.”
I turn . . . and immediately wish I hadn’t. Seeing Aedre this way, her blacksmith’s apron covering her, no gown today but a pair of men’s breeches and shirt beneath it . . .
Her hair is piled atop her head. Hammer in hand.
God, what a woman.
“Good day, my lady. I’m here to check on the progress of my sword.”
And to see you, for it seems I can’t stay away, even when you wish it so.
The sound of iron banging against iron and the smell of smoke reminds me of the forge at the castle. The people of Murwood End may not bow to either king nor queen, but they’ve many of the same customs as we do. This forge could easily belong in the south.
“’Tis nearly finished. Come, see.”
I nod to Lady Edrys, still uncertain of her thoughts about me.
“Does she always speak so little?” I whisper as we head into the forge.
“To strangers, aye.”
Of course I am a stranger, and in most villages, outsiders are met with mistrust and unease. But I don’t want to be a stranger to Aedre, or to those she holds dear.
“Ahh, Lord d’Abella.”
Aedre gives the hammer to a young man, presumably the smith’s apprentice, as her father wipes his hands on the front of his apron.
“I’ve finished your sword.” He walks around us and, picking up my new weapon, hands it to me.
The pattern-welded core with welded-on cutting edges, typical of a Voyager sword, is the reason I asked for it to be made. Well, one of them.
“A fine sword indeed.” I turn it over in my hand. “Your craftsmanship would be most desired in the capital. The master smith there is old, his hands feeble. His apprentice is young and not so skilled.”
Aedre and her father exchange a glance that I don’t quite understand.
Instead of guessing at its meaning, I set the sword aside and pull out the coin purse I’d prepared. Handing it to Master Dal, I’m surprised when he pushes it back toward me.
“Nay, I will not take your coin.”
I look at Aedre, but she seems as surprised as I am.
“I do not understand,” I say, attempting to give it to him again.
A shadow crosses the smith’s face. Anger, barely concealed.
“Aedre told me about your conversation with Father Beald.”
“I didn’t take kindly to his threats. Nor would King Galfrid.”
I want this man to trust me. Mayhap even like me. So I nod to the apprentice, and Aedre’s father sends him off on an errand. Once the three of us are alone, I tell him what I confessed to Aedre, from the tragedy of the ship sinking to the threat posed by the king’s nephew. And of course, to the role Kipp plays in all of it.
“He will not go with you.”
Aedre gives me a Did I not say so already? look.
“If he does not, Galfrid will be forced to name another as heir. But I fear even the best of men will not be accepted before his own nephew.”
“Especially since the church is backing him,” Aedre adds.
“Aye.”
I can tell from his expression Aedre had not yet relayed this information to her father.
“You came a long way, my lord, for little gain.”
His words echo his daughter’s, but my response is the same.
“He must.” I try one final time to hand Master Dal the coin, but he pushes it back.
“You’ve given my family a great boon, if indeed the Elderman will stay away. Keep your coin.”
I pick the sword back up, thanking him again for such fine craftsmanship.
“I wish you luck on your quest. Aedre can no doubt arrange a meeting, but do not expect Kipp to answer with anything but contempt.”
She already has agreed to do so, and I’m learning as much.
With nothing more to keep me here, I thank the smith once again and turn to leave. Closing my eyes as I step outside, I attempt to calm the slamming of my heart in my chest.
“Vanni?”
She stops me just as I’m about to bid farewell to Lady Edrys.
When I spin around, she freezes. If my expression is too harsh, it’s only because I’m struggling to control my reaction to her.
“Meet me at the rock?” she whispers.
No five words have ever sounded sweeter.
Chapter Seventeen
Aedre
I watch him for a moment as I approach. Vanni, sitting atop my rock, our rock, framed by the sea and the cliffs beyond. He looks peaceful, almost. And yet his skills with a sword are already infamous in Murwood End.
His men are skilled too, but Vanni did not become the king’s commander simply because the king is fond of him. He obviously earned that right, and some are openly wondering if he could best Kipp.
No one could conceive of such a thing before Vanni arrived.
Kipp’s father was so skilled with a sword he could have become a court advisor in Meria or Edingham. Instead, he chose the life of a mercenary . . . and did well enough he built Nord Manor.
I look toward it now, far off to the right, on a tidal island only accessible by foot at low tide. Watching its construction gave the people of Murwood End years of entertainment. The manor, and the man who owns it, represent the best of us.
Independent. Ruled by no one. Sometimes inaccessible but still bold and beautiful.
I look back to Vanni, who sees me and likely wonders why I don’t join him. Or why I brought him here in the first place.
What should I say to him?
Despite the invitation I was so quick to give, I still don’t know.
Amma and I talked well into the night, and her admission that Vanni may not be dangerous was tempered by a warning.
He may not wish you harm, my child. But pain takes many forms.
As a Garra, I know the truth of her words well. Even still, I walk toward him, compelled by a force stronger than my conflicted thoughts. Scrambling over small rocks to get to the large one, I greet Vanni as he stands.
My “good day” turns to something less intelligible as I stumble—and he easily catches me. I take his hand instinctively, his strong fingers wrapping around mine.
I’ve regained my balance, but he still doesn’t let me go.
Unlike the last time we were here, today the sea is calm, a steady clapping of water on the rocks. There’s something seductive about it. Coupled with Vanni’s gaze and the heat of his hand, it urges me to get closer to him . . .
Without thinking of the consequences, I close the distance between us, looking up into his eyes. But unlike the evening before, I am no longer scared. Aye, he will leave in a few days. But if I must think of the king’s commander when I sit upon this rock, then I will do so without regret.
“You ran from me,” he says, still holding my hand. “Twice.”
If there was anything I’ve ever wanted more than Vanni d’Abella to kiss me, I cannot remember it at this moment.
“I know better than others not to trifle with matters of the heart.”
He takes my other hand, and my eyes flutter shut of their own volition. The scent that is uniquely Vanni, the sound of the waves—they surround me, lulling me into a temporary peace. I’m being pulled toward him much like the current gets pulled out to sea. And it feels just as inevitable.
My eyes open.
“I did not run.”
I look into his eyes, and a single word courses through my head, my entire being.
Death.
The word so little belongs in this moment, it feels as if someone else planted it there. I know better. Although Amma has never had such visions, my mother did many times. It is a trait of some Garra. Only those with the blood of Athea in them, and who have also been properly trained and truly claim the title of Garra, can even hope to achieve s
uch visions.
Amma says Athea had one before she supposedly broke the Kingdom of Meria.
A noblewoman named Lady Edina visited the healer to ask for a love potion to make King Onry II fall in love with her. Athea made it, though none know if she did so despite her vision of a broken kingdom, or as some speculate, because of it.
The potion worked, the king forsaking his betrothed for Lady Edina. Years later when King Onry chose a successor from his twins sons, the older son by mere minutes became enraged, leaving d’Almerita for the untamed Highlands to the east. The church later claimed the kingdom’s split was punishment against Onry for forsaking his vows. They blamed Athea for her role, her ancestors forever cast into the shadows.
I attempt to give shape to this vision but cannot. It is instead more like a feeling of certainty that Vanni will deal a fatal blow, though when or against whom, I do not know.
I shake away the thought.
“I know why you left,” he says, and the moment is gone, replaced by one I wish would never end.
“Aye?” I tease as Vanni closes the space between us.
“I will not hurt you, Aedre. Or betray you.”
“Mayhap not apurpose, but you are not long for Murwood End.”
A fact I no longer care to dwell on even as he acknowledges my words by not refuting them. Instead, he leans down toward me. More than a kiss, this is the culmination of the longing, the desire that has drawn us together from the start. And as his tongue prompts my lips to open, I give over gladly.
Who needs to breathe when such a man kisses you in this way?
Not gentle, like the way he holds my hand. Not deferential, as he was in the forge with my family. Not gentlemanly, as he appeared in the tavern that first day.
Nay, he kisses like a different kind of man all together. The one who can knock another warrior’s sword from his hand with three strikes. Who bested Agnar after already fighting three others and threatened an Elderman with words none but he can speak.
The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1) Page 8