by Morgan Rice
Arliss’ eyes flooded with tears, and she laughed as the tears slid down her face. She wiped them away quickly and looked away, then right back at Steffen.
“No one has ever spoken to me the way you have,” she said. “I do not know whether to believe it. I’m so used to being made fun of.”
“As am I,” he said.
Steffen realized he needed to let her know how serious he was.
He rose and held out a hand, looking down earnestly. Slowly, hesitantly, Arliss took it.
“Those days are behind you now,” he said. “Never, in my presence, shall you be made fun of again.”
Arliss rose, holding Steffen’s hand, and looked into his eyes, long and hard. They each held the stare, and Steffen felt himself getting lost in her eyes, lost in another world, lost in something greater than himself—something he had never experienced before.
Arliss did not look away, and Steffen, suddenly, found himself overcome with emotion, and leaning in to kiss her.
Arliss did not back away. Instead, she waited, and at the last second, she leaned in, too, her lips trembling on his.
They kissed, the first time Steffen had ever kissed a woman, and to him it felt like it lasted forever. When it was over, he felt like a changed man. He felt he understood what love meant.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he said, unsure. “I did not mean to be too forward.”
Arliss looked down, squeezed his hand, and held it tight. Then she looked back up and smiled.
“Nothing,” she said, “has ever made me happier.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Alistair walked beside Erec, each holding their horse by its reins, a dozen Silver behind them. She was thrilled to finally be dismounted and have some time to walk quietly with Erec. This journey, heading south so that they could embark for the Southern Isles, had been taxing, most of all because Alistair hadn’t had much quiet time with Erec. Now, finally, she and Erec walked out in front, the two of them alone, walking close to each other. They had all ridden most of the way, but as they reached this narrow mountain pass, they had all dismounted to walk with the horses, the trail too rocky, the fall-off too steep in either direction.
Alistair welcomed the break, welcomed the opportunity to be able to walk beside Erec, to finally have a chance to speak with him without the sound of galloping horses in their ears. There was so much she had wanted to say to him. Most of all, she just wanted to be close to him. She was a bit nervous about leaving the Ring, crossing the ocean, about the huge adventure that lay ahead of them. They’d be leaving her homeland, entering a foreign kingdom. Would his people like her?
Alistair felt as if she never had a chance to spend time alone with Erec, to get really close to him—there were always some events coming in between them. And now that they were finally alone, there were so many things she wanted to ask him. So many, in fact, that her mind froze up, and she could think of none.
That was okay, though; just being with him in the silence was enough.
As they walked side by side, Alistair was awestruck by the vista that spread out before them. She looked out at sweeping valleys and ridges, lit beneath the beautiful summer suns, fields of tall, orange grasses swaying in the wind. How incredibly beautiful the Ring was, she thought, especially now, in summer, entire valleys filled with trees of every color. It was a place of incredible bounty, of such prosperity and peace. A part of her never wanted to leave.
Alistair felt overwhelmed with conflicting emotions as she thought back to all she was leaving behind. Her brother, Thorgrin, just as she was beginning to know him. A part of her wanted desperately to seek out her mother, too.
There was also her new sister-in-law and friend, Gwendolyn. Alistair had been looking forward to her wedding so much, and a huge part of her wanted to stay behind and be there for it, as she had promised Gwendolyn. She felt as if she were letting both her and her brother down.
What bothered Alistair most of all was her premonition, no matter how hard she tried to shake it, that terrible things were coming for the Ring. She tried to ignore it, to discard it as nonsense. After all, the Ring had never been more secure. What bad could possibly come here?
Alistair reached over to take Erec’s hand, and as she did, she could feel the warmth coming off of it, and she knew, above all, she had to be here, by her husband’s side. She wanted to be here. Despite everything, there was nowhere else she wanted to be. Her people needed her, but her husband needed her more—and she would not be happy if she were not by his side.
Erec squeezed her hand.
“Thank you for coming with me,” he said. “It is a journey I would not wish to take without you. I can’t wait for you to meet my people.”
Erec smiled at her, and she smiled back as she held his hand. It was the right decision. After all, his father was dying, and it was past time for him to return to his homeland. And once they reached the Southern Isles, they would marry. Nothing meant more to Alistair than that.
“I would journey with you to the ends of the earth, my lord,” she replied.
They walked until the trail forked, and they all came to a stop. To the left, atop the ridge they had been walking, the path continued—but it also forked to the right, sharply down, curving off in a different direction.
Erec and his men all began to take the path downward, but Alistair stopped in her tracks, her entire body suddenly feeling cold. Her eyes opened wide as she sensed something—a powerful feeling. She stood there, frozen.
Finally, Erec and the men realized, and they all stopped, too, and turned and looked at her.
Erec looked at her with concern.
“What is it, my lady?” he asked.
Alistair looked down in terror at the trail they were about to embark on.
“We cannot go down there,” she said. “The trail is not safe.”
“What do you mean, my lady?” one of the Silver said. “This trail has been traveled for centuries. And against warriors such as us, no thieves stand a chance.”
Alistair stared at the trail, and she did not back down. She felt something off.
“I do not know what it is,” she replied, “but I know it is not safe. If you take that path, you will die.”
They all turned and looked down at the trail, wondering, skeptical.
Erec walked over to her and took her hand. He faced the men.
“If my lady says the trail is unsafe, then it is unsafe. We shall follow her.”
“But my lord,” one of them protested, “that trail offers the most direct way to the ship. To go another way would lose us days. We could miss the ship. And for what? A premonition?”
Erec’s jaw tightened in Alistair’s defense.
“I said we shall not take that trail,” Erec repeated firmly.
Erec turned and, taking Alistair’s hand, forked to the upper trail. Reluctantly, all his men fell in behind him.
As they walked, Erec squeezed her hand, leaned over, and whispered in Alistair’s ear: “I trust you, my lady.”
Alistair was about to reply, but before she could, suddenly, there came a great rumbling. They all turned and looked below, and they watched as there suddenly came a tremendous rockslide, huge boulders separating from the steep mountain ridge, rolling down. In moments, they completely filled the trail below them—the trail they all would have been on had they chosen the opposite fork just moments before.
They all stopped and turned to Alistair in awe.
She could feel all the eyes on her. They all knew that if they had gone the other way, right now, they would all be dead.
Alistair didn’t know where her power came from. A part of her did not want to know.
Was it even greater than she could ever imagine?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kendrick dismounted as he reached this small, lonely village in the northern part of the Ring, this desolate part of the country where the villages lay far and few between. He had ridden a long and dusty road, winding ever north, an
d had spent the entire ride wondering if the news could possibly be true. Kendrick had followed so many false leads over the years, each bringing him to a woman who was clearly not his mother.
Yet this time felt different. Kendrick’s heart pounded as he clutched both halves of the medallion in his palm.
Kendrick had followed directions meticulously, weaving his way through the Ring, galloping to this lonely town in the northern country, until it had led him here. This town was slightly bigger than the others, with too many taverns; Kendrick passed too many crude types roaming the streets, stumbling, drunk even in the day. His heart pounded as he scanned the faces of all the people, wondering if any of them could be his mother.
Another part of him told him it was not possible. Why would his mother live in a place like this? Wasn’t she a princess? He had always imagined her living in a castle—but as he looked around, he saw nothing but humble dwellings. It made no sense to him. Had his squire made a mistake?
Kendrick wondered, for the millionth time, if his mother had known about him. Surely, she must have. After all, Kendrick was famous as the King’s bastard son. Why, he wondered, had she never claimed him? Had the King’s people scared her away?
Kendrick secretly hoped so. He secretly hoped he would find a woman who was alone, sad without him, jubilant to see him, restored once again from some deep sadness she had suffered with all of these years. She would have the perfect explanation for why she had been away. He hoped she would tell him that she had searched for him his whole life, had wanted to come see him, but had been forbidden, kept away for some reason.
Kendrick walked through the streets with high hopes, feeling as if one of the defining moments of his life was about to happen.
He scanned the faces, unsure who to look for. He looked for a middle-aged woman who might resemble him. He looked for the face he’d pictured in his dreams his whole life.
Yet he found no one.
Kendrick hurried up to an old woman who sat before a tavern and watched everyone who passed by, and wondered if perhaps she would know.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but do you know a woman named Alisa?”
The woman peered at him suspiciously.
“Alisa?” she repeated slowly. “Everyone knows her. What do you want of her?”
Kendrick’s heart quickened.
“Please, tell me where she is. I am her son.”
The woman’s eyes opened wide.
“Her son?!”
The old woman broke into hysterical laughter, a cackle that set Kendrick’s hair on edge.
“Her son!” she repeated, laughing, as if she found that the funniest thing in the world.
Kendrick blushed, annoyed, baffled at her response and beginning to lose patience. He did not understand why she found it funny.
“You insult me in some way I do not understand,” Kendrick said. “I am a member of the Silver. Show your respect and hold your tongue.”
The woman’s cackle slowly subsided, her face morphing into fear.
“Your mother can be found at the Red Horse Inn,” she said. “The last building at the end of the street.”
Kendrick turned and walked away, and her laughter rose up again. He did not understand what it all meant, and he brushed it off as the musings of a crazy old lady. After all, this was a small town, far removed from any big city, and the people here seemed rude to him. Again, he wondered what his mother could be doing here. Was he in the wrong place?
Kendrick finally reached the Red Horse Inn and tied his horse to a post outside. His heart pounding, his palms sweating, he turned to the door—when suddenly, three men burst out of it, wrestling each other down to the ground. Kendrick stepped aside just in time as they drove each other down, stirring up dust. They were drunk, cursing and kicking each other.
Kendrick turned and looked inside the open door, and heard shouts and laughs coming from inside, and wondered how this could be the right place. This appeared to be a tavern of ill repute, one not even befitting a member of the Silver to enter—much less the leader of the Silver.
Kendrick steeled himself, strutted inside, and slammed open the door with the back of his Silver gauntlet, banging it hard to make every head turn.
The room quieted as every man stopped and examined Kendrick. There was a look of respect and fear in their eyes, as Kendrick strode into the room, his spurs jingling on the hardwood floors. He walked right up to the bartender.
“I seek a woman named Alisa,” Kendrick said.
The bartender gestured with his head.
“The back room,” he said. “The red hair. But I think it’s too early for her,” he added.
Kendrick did not understand with the bartender meant, but before he could ask he had already moved on to another customer.
Kendrick turned and hurried to the back room of the tavern, an increasing sense of foreboding rising within him. This all felt wrong. None of this was making any sense. He was certain now that his squire must have been mistaken. What would his mother, the one-time partner of a King, be doing here?
Kendrick pushed back a black, velvet drape partitioning the back room, and he stopped short, shocked at what he saw.
Before him were dozens of women, scantily clad, paired up with men behind thinly veiled partitions. Dozens more women roamed the place, and Kendrick flushed as he realized immediately what this place was: a brothel.
Before he could turn to walk out, Kendrick’s blood ran cold as he saw a woman walking toward him, a smile on her face, middle-aged, the only one in the room with red hair. He felt his world slowly crumbling as he examined her face, and realized she looked exactly like him. An older, female version of him.
She smiled as she approached.
No, he thought. This cannot be. Not her. Not my mother.
“How can we serve you?” she asked Kendrick, smiling, laying a hand on his shoulder. “A real member of the Silver in our place. To what do we owe the honor?”
Kendrick’s face collapsed in dismay as he stared back at the woman, feeling all his hopes, ever since he was a child, crushed.
“I have come to see my mother,” he replied, his voice soft, humble, broken, his eyes filled with sadness.
Suddenly, the face of the woman crumbled; her smile dropped as she looked at him with confusion, then dawning recognition. She flinched and pulled back her hand, as if she had touched a snake, and her face fell with shame as she quickly covered herself up, wrapped the shawl around her shoulders modestly.
She raised a trembling hand to her mouth as she stared back at him, wide-eyed.
“Kendrick?” she asked.
Kendrick stood there, frozen, numb, not knowing what to say. He was overcome with dread and horror. Shame. Repulsion.
Most of all, disappointment. Crushing disappointment. His entire life had been spent as a bastard, and secretly, he’d always hoped to prove the world wrong, to prove that he had come from a royal mother, to prove that he had nothing to be ashamed about.
But now he saw the others were right all along. He was nothing but a bastard. He had never felt so low.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
But Kendrick had nothing more to say to her. He could not reconcile the image he saw before him with the vision he had always held in his mind. This woman could not be his mother. It was not fair.
“I’ve searched for you all my life,” he said slowly, his voice broken. “Unlike you—who never bothered to search for me. Now I understand why.”
His mother’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“You shouldn’t see me here,” she said.
“You’re my mother,” he said, accusingly. “How could you do this? How could you live your life like this? Have you no noble blood running through your body?”
She scowled, turning red. It was a look he recognized; he wore the same look when he was angry.
“You don’t know the life I’ve lived!” she replied, indignant. “You are no one to judge me!”
> “Oh yes I am,” he said. “I am your son. If not me, then who?”
She stared back at him, and her eyes flooded with tears.
“You should go now,” she said. “You shouldn’t be in this place.”
He stared back at her, his own eyes welling with tears.
“And you should?” he asked.
She suddenly broke into a sob. She held her face in her hands.
Kendrick could not stand it any longer; he turned, drew back the velvet drape, and hurried through the tavern.
“Hey!” a beefy man said, reaching out and grabbing Kendrick’s wrist roughly. “You went behind the drape and you didn’t pay. Everyone pays, whether you sample the merchandise or not.”
In a rage, Kendrick swung the man’s arm around, twisting it behind his back, and brought the man’s face down on his knee, smashing it into the silver armor and breaking it.
The man collapsed to the ground, and the rest of the men in the tavern froze, thinking twice about coming anywhere near him. The entire bar stood still, as the men stared, silent.
Kendrick turned and strutted out the door, into the daylight, determined to wipe this place from his memory, and to never, ever think of it again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Conven, finally home, marched into his village, ragged, weary, his legs numb from trekking all these miles. Conven had come all this way alone, on foot, walking ever since he had departed from the Legion, deciding he had nowhere left to go but here. Home. Still besieged by grief over his brother’s death, he needed the time to clear his head. To be alone from everyone and everything.
A part of Conven felt he should be back in King’s Court, celebrating with his other Legion brothers; but another part of him, the bigger part, was still numb to the world. Thoughts of his dead twin brother consumed him, making it hard to focus on anything else. He was unable to shake his grief—and he didn’t want to. His twin brother was like a part of himself, and when he had died back in the Empire, the best part of Conven had died with him.