The King's Commander (Kingdoms of Meria Book 1)

by Cecelia Mecca

  Despite the hard edge of Aldwine’s tone, I am more hopeful as he continues to listen and ask questions.

  He tilts his head, studying me. “What did Father Beald do to earn your ire?”

  An abrupt change of subject, but it is an easy enough question to answer.

  “He threatened Aedre and spoke ill of Lady Edrys. In this very hall.”

  Aldwine grabs his mug, his expression neutral, and sits back against the wall behind his stool.

  “You care for Aedre?”

  Every word he speaks sits atop a sword’s edge. Kipp Aldwine is not a man I would wish as an enemy.

  “Aye.”

  “Yet you will leave here, never to return?”

  He stares at me with an intensity that matches—or exceeds—the look Aedre’s father gave me, and the inquiry in his eyes reminds me of her grandmother. The question is not a foreign one. I’ve been asking myself the same thing, over and over, since last eve.

  After leaving Aedre, I returned to the very spot where she allowed me to give her pleasure. Where we spoke at length for the first time. Where, against the background of stormy seas, she crept inside my soul.

  I imagine riding from Murwood End, looking back to watch her as I take my leave. The image fills me with despair. And yet, I likely won’t be able to return. Meria is poised on the brink of war. With itself. And with Edingham, always. Nor is it an option to bring her with me. I know she will never leave her family.

  Another thought haunts the back of my mind. I lose focus here in Murwood. There is a reason the Shadow Warriors take the same vow of celibacy as the men they serve. If I marry, I’ll worry more about my wife’s safety than my king’s.

  I take a sip of ale, trying to calm my seething thoughts. “We were discussing the church and Meria’s future.”

  I don’t think Aldwine will let it go, so I’m not surprised when he says, “Neither the church nor the future of Meria concerns me overly much.”

  “And when Lord Hinton becomes king, do you not care for his distaste of the Voyagers’ independence from Merian rule? His thirst for war?”

  It is the best argument I have, knowing Aldwine cares little about the south and even less for his father.

  “If Hinton attempts to take Murwood End, many lives will be forfeit for the effort.”

  He says it with such calm certainty that I don’t doubt him.

  By sea, they are unmatched. By land, any advantage of larger numbers will be lost with the difficulty of fighting in the difficult terrain of the Loigh Mountains. The potential gain too little for such a steep price. But Hinton might be dull-witted enough to try it, his distaste for the “savages” well known.

  “That’ll be little comfort to those who die on both sides. We need you, Aldwine,” I state plainly. “Your father needs you.”

  His only reaction is to take a long swig of ale. Mug empty, he leans forward to fill it from the tankard.

  “My father was killed fourteen years ago.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” I say sincerely. “He was, as I understand, quite a man.”

  For the first time, Aldwine loses his bored, unattached manner.

  “You were trained by the Legion of Ash,” he says.

  I fill my own mug. I’d suspected he would pick up on that. The move I showed Agnar and Christopher was one any with similar training would recognize.

  “I was.” Though I don’t think it will help my cause, I’d be honest with him. “And so was your brother.”

  He does not react to that.

  “My father served Galfrid. When my parents died, your . . . the king raised me at court. I was trained with the prince.”

  With so few members of the Legion remaining, it is likely Aldwine and I are two of the last men to have been trained by them.

  He snorted. “He should name you his successor.”

  He said it casually, without bitterness or malice. Aldwine does not seem to resent the fact that Galfrid raised me as his own. Worse, he genuinely seems not to care. Kipp Aldwine sees Galfrid as his father as much as I see Father Beald as a man of God, and he is utterly indifferent about our cause.

  “He would name his son instead.”

  Again, no reaction. Thankfully, he seems less inclined to challenge me to a duel than he was on our first meeting. But my words do not seem to have moved him.

  “His son, I am sorry to say, is dead.”

  I look around, ensuring we are not overheard. But none are looking our way or are even within earshot.

  “Prince Matteo is dead, aye. But you are very much alive. And if you would return with me to d’Almerita, the king would name you as his successor. And Meria would be better for it. You are clearly a natural leader.”

  I hold his gaze, Aldwine looking at me with equal parts confidence and challenge. I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. Though I could continue listing all of the reasons he should come with me, I do not doubt Aldwine already understands the ramifications of his decision. Nor will it help to tell him that the king sent him and his mother here, in the company of a man he handpicked to keep them safe. That Galfrid has routinely sent men here to check on his well-being. But he’s been told as much in the past; if it didn’t move him then, it won’t now.

  “Come back with me,” I implore him once more.

  He opens his mouth to answer me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Aedre

  “Amma?”

  The sun has barely risen, but Father has already gone to the forge. As is my custom, I came into Amma’s bedchamber to bid her farewell before taking stock of any herbs I might need, but she’s still abed.

  “Amma?”

  Normally, she wakes easily, but not this morn. She doesn’t stir. She doesn’t even move. Something is terribly wrong. I run to her bedside, repeating her name, only to realize she’s breathing much too heavily. I tear off her coverlet and examine her carefully, finding nothing else amiss except for her legs, which have both swelled. Lowering my head to her chest, I listen carefully.

  And dislike what I hear.

  Stepping back, I search frantically around the room. Our herbs are not located in here, of course, but it takes me a moment to remember that. To think. To plan. Amma has always praised me for having a calm disposition in uncertain times, but I’m finding it hard to cling to a single thought as I stare down at the only woman I’ve known as a mother, watching as she struggles to breathe.

  Already knowing what this means, wishing I did not, I wipe away the tears in my eyes. It’s then I hear her voice in my head. Long, slow, deep breaths, child. You’ll not help anyone like that.

  Finally, I can think.

  I need foxglove leaf. And my father.

  Running from the room, I make my way to the small healing chamber Father built, despite his hesitations about my calling, and begin to sift through the wooden boxes. I already know we do not have what I need, but I search for it anyway. It’s not there, of course.

  Deep breaths, Aedre.

  I do not wish to leave her, but she needs that plant. Fighting my impulse to return to Amma’s chamber, I run out the front door and do not stop. I tear through the field that doesn’t grow the plant I need, the soil not sour enough, and make my way toward the village, toward the cottage of the cobbler’s wife, where I last saw some. Not willing to veer away from my path, I shout a message to Agnar, who is making his way toward me.

  “Tell my father Amma is unwell. I go to Anna for foxglove leaf.”

  I don’t wait for his response. “He is at the forge. Tell him!”

  By the time I arrive at the cobbler’s home, shouting for Anna, I’ve found the calm determination that I need to help my grandmother.

  “I need foxglove. ’Tis for Amma,” I say as Anna emerges, obviously having seen me coming.

  “Go,” she says. “Go.”

  I head around to the back, and without stopping to admire the pink blooms, I grab handfuls of leaves, thanking Anna, who wrings her hand on a stained apron. “I
s she . . . ?”

  My heart knows the answer, but I refuse to say it aloud. Instead, I thank her again and run back, knowing by now the village will have been alerted.

  Indeed, by the time I return home, a crowd has gathered outside the house.

  I push my way through them, not noticing any faces, intent on my one purpose: to bring Amma comfort.

  Whipping open the door, I run inside and head straight to my healing chamber. Getting immediately to work, I grind the leaves into a paste, mindful that the wrong amount will do more harm than good. By the time I finish, adding water to the mixture, and return to her chamber, Father is there, sitting beside her.

  “She must drink this,” I say, showing him the mug. He does not question me, but rather helps by lifting her head. Some of it dribbles down the sides of her mouth. Some of it she swallows. “That’s enough,” I say, and Father gently lays Amma’s head back onto the pillow.

  We exchange a glance, but I can’t speak. Neither, it seems, can my father. For all their bickering, he loves and relies on Amma just as much as I do. Holding her hand, he watches as I move to the other side of the bed and do the same. I sit on the edge of the mattress, trying to feel reassured by the slight heat of her against me.

  “’Tis her heart,” I say.

  He asks the silent question, and I shake my head gently.

  Amma has been getting weaker for some time. But just the day before she was as spry as ever, it seemed, even making the walk to the forge to sit outside the shop and greet passersby as she so enjoyed doing. And when I came home last eve, she was awake. Waiting for me.

  “How was your evening child?” But a smile stole across her face before I could answer her. “Ah, Aedre. Of all the men in the world.”

  Whether because of her experience as a Garra or her knowledge of me as my amma, she knew. She must have sensed the change in me.

  “She seems to breathe easier now,” Father says, his tone uncertain.

  I will Amma to open her eyes. But she does not.

  Looking at Father does not make this any easier. Although he must have shed tears about my mother, I was not old enough to remember them. I cannot recall ever seeing wetness in his eyes. I hope their last words were not said in anger, as the two disagreed on many things.

  “She seemed well last eve,” I whisper, squeezing her hand but getting no response back.

  “Aye,” he says, his apron still black with soot. Father always cleans himself, as I do, before coming inside, so it is alarming to see him this way in Amma’s bedchamber.

  He looks up at me.

  “I told her no.”

  What is he talking about?

  “I told Edrys of the invitation, and she begged me to tell you I was too tired to attend. When I realized what she was about, I told her it was completely unacceptable for an unmarried man to escort you, especially one not even from Murwood.”

  That did sound very much like my father.

  “She pleaded with me. And so I relented.”

  I try to make sense of his words, but I cannot.

  “Amma is dying, Father.”

  He nods as tears well in my eyes, escaping onto my cheeks. When he looks behind me, I do not turn around but feel the bed sink next to me.

  Kipp brings my head to his shoulder as the tears fall in earnest. My chest constricts as his arm goes around me. For a few moments, I give myself over to the sorrow, to the tears, and then I lift my head and look down.

  Open your eyes, Amma. Give me one last bit of advice. Tell me how to live without you.

  But she does not open them. As Father said, she does breathe easier, but it is little consolation. I tell Kipp so he is prepared.

  “She is dying,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  I lean forward to kiss my sweet Amma on the cheek, remembering something else she said to me last eve. “Goodnight, child. All will be well.”

  Why had she not added “in Murwood,” as was her custom? And why did I not stay with her longer? Had I known, I would never have left this chamber . . .

  A chill runs through me. I know before either Father or Kipp do. I know because the blood of the Garra runs through me. I know, even though I wish I did not.

  Lying atop her chest, I wrap my arms around her and weep. Begging her to come back to me. I feel Kipp’s hand on my shoulder, and I hear but do not comprehend my father’s comforting words, all while I weep and weep and weep.

  When I sit up finally, everything hurts. My heart most of all.

  Refusing to leave her, even after Father and Kipp do, I sit with Amma for so long day turns into night. I turn both of them away multiple times. How can I leave when the next time I see her it will be on a ship that carries her out to sea, never to return again?

  “Aedre?”

  Though the sun has already fallen, the chamber is bright courtesy of candles someone, I know not who, has lit. But I would have recognized his voice even if I could not see him.

  Vanni.

  I jump from the bed, feeling a wave of relief that he has not yet left Murwood. Sometime earlier I had thought of him. Wondered if he and Kipp had spoken after all. But the thought came and went, drowned in the well of sorrow within me.

  “You’re still here.”

  He is at my side so quickly, I do not have time to think. Within moments, I’m wrapped in his arms.

  “Shhh,” he whispers in my ear. But I cannot. My tears refuse to be silent ones. “I am so sorry.”

  It feels different to be held by Vanni than it did with Kipp. His chest is just as hard and unforgiving, though the pulse of his heart soothes me. Eventually, I stop crying, although I cannot bring myself to move from the safety of his embrace just yet.

  “She’s gone.”

  I strain my neck to see his face. But I will not let go of him. Not yet.

  “I know she is, Aedre. And I am so sorry for it.”

  He tries to pull me away with him.

  “You must come with me.”

  And then I realize Father sent him in here to force me to leave Amma’s chamber.

  “I wish it were otherwise, Aedre, but I know death,” he says softly. “Sometimes I feel that I am cursed.”

  I do break away then, enough to look at him.

  “Nay, you are not cursed,” I say, sure of my words. “You have seen death, but somehow, though I can’t explain it precisely, it is a good thing too.”

  He looks at me strangely.

  “I do not have clear visions as my mother did, but feelings . . .” I shrug. “Aye. Amma says some Garra are given that gift, and by knowing yourself, it can be honed. Maybe someday they will be more clear, but for now, ’tis just a feeling. And with you, there is somehow good to come of the death that surrounds you.”

  “It is what I meant to say, Aedre. That I know death, and wanting never to rise again because of it. But you will. You must. For the living. For whatever purpose that makes each day worth living.”

  For a moment, I think he means me, but I know his purpose is the king. And mine? It is what Amma trained me to do.

  From the look in his eyes, Vanni thinks I mean to refuse him, but I know I cannot stay here any longer. I must say goodbye.

  Moving away and sitting beside her once again, I take Amma’s hand and tell her, even though I do not believe the words, “All will be well. I love you, Amma.”

  If she can somehow hear me, I want her to think her last words to me might hold some truth.

  Vanni is there when I stand up again.

  “You did not leave,” I repeat. Grateful.

  “Of course not. I’ve been outside all day.”

  I know he has an important mission, one that cannot wait. But I need to know . . .

  “Will you stay until the morrow? When we send her off?”

  He does not hesitate.

  “Aye, Aedre, I will be there, by your side if you wish it.”

  It’s foolish of me to ask. Delaying his departure is not the same as preventing it. Besides, I
have Father and Kipp, both of whom have known Amma, and me, my whole life. But knowing that Vanni will be there too, I look back, one last time. And sigh.

  I love you, Amma.

  I’m ready to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Vanni

  “Will you talk to him again?”

  Thomas seems uncomfortable with the jubilant atmosphere, a very different kind of ceremony than we’re accustomed to in the south. I’ll admit, it’s my first experience of a Voyager funeral, and I understand—if not share—his unease. We all stood and watched as Aedre’s grandmother drifted out to sea on a small boat stacked with her most prized possessions. The moment was strange yet moving, and in its wake the townspeople have gathered for a feast.

  It’s nothing like the somber ceremonies we’re accustomed to in Meria.

  I watch as Aedre makes her way through the crowd, smiling as the villagers vie for her attention. I know Aedre’s smile is not entirely genuine, but none of the others seem to notice. As she told me earlier, those who come to mourn take their cue from the family, and Lady Edrys wished for her life to be remembered with joy, not pain.

  “I’d not planned on doing so. His answer was clear enough.”

  Following Thomas’s gaze, I see Kipp lift a small child off the ground and swing her over his head. His gentleness and his playfulness is so at odds with the man I spoke with at the inn.

  “No. I will not return with you,” he said. “Not now. Not ever. The man you serve is nothing to me. He is not my father, nor my king. Meria’s problems are not mine.”

  Though I’d expected his refusal by then, his words shook me all the same. I tried again, of course, but my further efforts failed just as surely.

  “We cannot go back without him,” Thomas says as a serving maid refills both of our mugs. The amount of ale that has flowed since sunset could rival any feast at court. Lady Edrys, beloved by all, is receiving a fine send-off indeed.

  “He will not be swayed. We have no choice.”

  This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. And it will likely not be the last.