The bond between them vibrated with her nervousness, echoing his.
:It will take time,: Jasan agreed. :But you should not keep her waiting.:
Daren looked back at the tent before him. The Queen’s guards were looking at him with odd expressions. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating so much. He’d known many women, been in and out of relationships like he changed garments, but this. . . .
His heart clenched in his chest. This mattered.
Daren pushed through the tent flap; he stood in the darkness and let his eyes adjust.
She stood opposite him, her Companion’s head over her shoulder, the table of maps between them.
Dearest gods, she was lovely.
Golden hair, blue eyes that were strong and yet like a startled doe’s. Her armor was a mixture of plate and white leather, and it didn’t show much dust. But there were smudges on her face and the trace of tears. It hurt him to see her pain.
“Your Majesty,” Daren placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head.
“Lord Darenthallis,” Selenay’s voice trembled.
“Daren,” he blurted out. “I go by Daren.”
“Daren,” she repeated. Her voice trailed off and they both stood there, staring at one another.
“I didn’t intend this,” Daren said. “I never thought that something like this could happen. I. . . .”
:Your brother’s greeting,: Jasan prompted.
Daren pulled himself up. “Your Majesty, I bring greetings from King Faramentha of Rethwellan. He bade me say that our presence here today honors the pledge that King Stefansen made to Herald-Prince Roald, preserving the honor of Rethwellan and the friendship between our lands.”
“You look nothing like him,” Selenay whispered, wonder and relief in her voice.
Daren stared back at her helplessly. “Faram and I favor my father,” he replied. “Thanel favored our mother.”
“Thanel? He went by Karath when he was here.”
Daren shook his head in disgust. “Thanel was what he was known by in Rethwellan,” Daren continued. “My old weaponsmistress called him a ‘grek’ka’shen.’ That’s an animal found on the Plains,” he explained. “Scavenges anything dead, soils its own nest, and eats its young.”
Selenay grimaced. “Appropriate,” she murmured, dropping her eyes. “I wish I’d known that before. . . .” her words trailed off.
Daren shook his head. “Would it have made a difference?”
“I—I don’t know,” Selenay answered, her honesty wrung out and raw.
“He could charm the sun out of the sky, the vicious little beast.” Daren took a step forward. “I am not him,” he said fiercely.
Selenay lifted her head and looked at him, a faint wondering in her eyes. She nodded slowly and then frowned slightly. “I seem to remember someone telling me . . . your weaponsmistress was Shin’a’in, wasn’t she?”
Daren nodded. “She wouldn’t train Thanel for any price. Trained me though, and Kero,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Taught us the trick we used today in fact. Worked out well.” He stared at Selenay, wanting her to know everything. “We were lovers when we were young,” he blurted out, then covered his face with his hand. “Oh, gods, why did I say that?”
Jasan whickered outside.
Selenay coughed, and Daren opened his fingers to see her choking back a laugh. “We are not at our best,” she offered. “You traveled far to save us. To save Valdemar.”
“I served my King, Your Majesty.” Daren took shelter in a return to formality. “But never so joyously.” He paled as he thought on his journey. “Hardorn’s Ancar is another grek’ka’shen. What he’s done to the land,” Daren drew a shuddering breath. “He’s not done with Valdemar yet, Lady.” He looked back into those lovely blue eyes. “With us.”
He lost himself in her face again, just staring at her. Thankfully, she seemed lost in his as well.
“You have a smudge on your nose,” he whispered.
Selenay blushed. His heart flipped as she lifted a hand and rubbed her nose. He took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to—but he stopped and took a conscious and deliberate step back.
Selenay’s eyes were wide, questioning him.
“Your Majesty,” Daren said carefully. “I need to see to my people, as do you. We both have duties here and now. But I would like to . . . explore this possibility. The possibility of us.”
Selenay nodded. “As would I.”
“But know this, Queen Selenay.” Daren set his shoulders, trying to find the right words. “Your Majesty, I’d . . . wherever this leads—if it leads to something growing between us—I’ll not be crowned.”
“What?” Selenay stared at him, and her Companion also seemed taken aback. He heard the rustle of canvas behind him, and Jasan pushed his head into the tent. Daren suppressed a surge of satisfaction. He’d surprised them all.
“But if this thing between us,” Selenay gestured toward Jasan. “Being Chosen, you would qualify as Co-Ruler in a way that Karath never–” she stopped herself.
Daren nodded. “Karath, Thanel, whatever you decide to call him, he left a taint, and I will not walk in his footsteps. But even more than that, I do not wish to wear a crown. Faram deals with so much as a result of that burden, and I know full well the price.”
Selenay nodded her understanding.
“But if you would allow,” Daren said softly., “I would stand with you. Support you in all ways, all things. Behind the throne,” he smiled at her. “Not on it.”
Selenay took a breath, her eyes tearing up. “Are you sure?”
“More than sure,” Daren said. “Now, with your leave, Your Majesty, I’ll–”
Jasan bumped him in the middle of his back. :Kiss her.:
Daren scowled and shook his head.
“What?” Selenay asked.
“He thinks I should kiss you,” Daren looked at her ruefully, then glanced back at his Companion. “Were you born in a barn?”
Selenay’s laughter burst out, like rain on his thirsty soul.
Selenay could not restrain her laughter, rising out of her relief.
Daren gave her a boyish grin. “Are they always that pushy?” he asked.
“Most times,” Selenay said teasingly, then laughed again as Cayro shook her head in denial. “Daren, this is my Companion, Cayro.”
“My lady,” Daren bowed. “I believe you already know my Companion, Jasan.”
Jasan snorted as he backed out of the tent.
“I really, really want to kiss you, Your Maj-”
“Selenay,” she interrupted.
“Selenay.” His smile lit his face. He drew a breath. “But there is time for that. We’ll talk first. Before we explore other . . . possibilities. I’d want to really know you before . . .” Daren paused. “Do you know what I am trying to say?”
Selenay nodded, her throat tight with emotion, unable to speak, feeling the truth of his words within the bond.
“But you’ll forgive me if I hope the wait is not long,” Daren said. “And I’d ask one favor,” he added, his eyes sparkling.
Selenay raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t believe anything Kero says. I don’t snore.”
Selenay laughed again, and the band of pressure around her chest eased. Daren gave her a boyish grin and lifted his eyebrows. Her heart turned over at the sight.
“I’m not sure how I am going to explain this to Faram. It’s going to take me a score of letters to convince him that I’ve been Chosen and explain what that means.” Daren’s eyebrows danced. “Maybe I’ll tell him that Jasan is a Shin’a’in battlesteed. That might do it.”
There was an offended snort from outside.
Selenay suppressed the giggle that rose in her chest.
“I’m in Valdemar to stay,” Daren said. “I am not going to give up Jasan or you, Selenay of Valdemar.”
“I’m glad,” Selenay replied, confidence flowing through her.
Daren put on his helmet, looking
satisfied. “Your Majesty.” He swept a graceful courtly bow as he backed away.
Selenay stepped forward, suddenly reluctant to part. She extended her hand.
Daren took it gently in his and lightly touched his lips to it. Then he left, with a flourish of his cloak.
Selenay stood for a moment. :He is not his brother.:
:He is not.: Caryo agreed. :And I am here, always.:
:Always,: Selenay said, as the tightness in her shoulders eased even more.
Noises from without, and the flap was raised. “The Lord Marshal is here to confer with you.”
Selenay rubbed her face, hopefully erasing her tears. “Let him enter,” she commanded.
“A battle won, majesty.” The Lord Marshal strode in with his staff.
“But there are consequences yet to be dealt with,” Selenay stepped to the map table. “Let’s see to it, shall we?” She bent her head to the reports he laid out for her, with a new energy. No, she smiled to herself. More like a new anticipation.
And a new determination to protect Valdemar and those she . . . loved.
Chapter 4 - A Healer’s Work - Daniel Shull
The greenhouse was worse than he’d expected. The tools had gotten damp from the constant storms, and plants were either dying or running riot. Whoever had last been inside appeared to have trimmed just enough materials for their use and then run off. Several of the windows had been left open, and drains had not been cleared, resulting in a sludge that clung to everything. The mess wasn’t insurmountable, just extensive; only there shouldn’t have been a mess to begin with.
Healer Serril looked around the dilapidated greenhouse with more than a bit of irritation, tempered only by his fondness for the Trainee standing a few feet away from him. Jayin waved a slightly rusted trowel in the direction of the Healers’ Collegium, fury radiating from her normally placid brown eyes.
“Idiots! Ham-fisted children! Delinquents! Fumble-fingered—” Serril interrupted her before someone came to investigate the furious ranting.
“Jayin.” Her name, backed by all of his authority, was enough to stop the Trainee midrant. She grimaced but bowed in apology to her mentor, eyes to the ground in a show of contrition. The apology was certainly genuine; everything else was for show, Serril knew from long experience. He also knew that the Healers who’d require her contrition would be the ones most likely to accept a display and not probe deeper. Brone immediately came to mind.
She had good reason for her irritation, to be sure. Ever since Elspeth had returned, the Collegia and Court had been all atwitter for their suddenly strange Herald-Mage and her even stranger allies. The two Hawkbrothers alone would be enough to turn anyone’s head; add the creatures called gryphons and their younglings, and it was no wonder that most of Haven occupied themselves with little else. Gossip left the court, galloped around the city and returned with three heads, seven legs, and no sense whatsoever. The Hawkbrothers were descended from the gryphons, or vice versa. Elspeth was nothing more than a chew toy for the ravening monsters that were set to take over Valdemar. Vanyel himself had been resurrected and somehow brought to the Court. And those were the tamer stories. It was enough to make a cat sneeze.
And the normally sensible Healers had mostly fallen prey to this absurdity. Essential duties had been let slide. Reports from the countryside were stacking up because the secretary was too busy loitering in the diplomatic wing, hoping for a glimpse of their exotic guests. Despite his incessant lurking, nobody quite had the heart to shoo the man away when this was probably the most excitement he’d ever had. The library was in disarray because nobody was thinking about putting books away. The greenhouse had suffered because not one Healer–until now–had come in to maintain it for at least a week. The sensible ones had simply been overwhelmed with trying to deal with everything their counterparts should have been doing.
Serril and Jayin had valid excuses though. They’d been at Briarley Crossing, attending to the results of what was best called a string of strange luck: an outbreak of the flux, several broken bones, and no fewer than five births–all within two weeks time. The local Healer and the midwife had been swamped and grateful for their help. Then, the day they were due to leave for Haven, a particularly nasty storm had blown up and made travel impractical for another two weeks.
When they had finally ridden into Haven, Jayin had muttered something about hiding from the Dean of the Healers for a few days. Serril had nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. Sadly, he wouldn’t be able to dodge that worthy as easily as Jayin, even if he hadn’t planned to visit the Dean to recommend that she receive her full Greens for their work in Briarley Crossing. They’d been assisting at a Healing station in the North and were on their way back to Haven when they’d arrived in Briarley Crossing just as things took a turn for the busy. So of course he had to report to the Dean to explain the whys and wherefores behind their late arrival and then give his report on Jayin.
Dean Ostel had mostly paid attention to Serril’s report and his recommendation for Jayin, massaging his temples as if fighting off an oncoming headache. Serril didn’t think the stocky man had a problem with his report, but several months outside of Haven politics made him more than a bit wary. He did his best not to play the games, but he knew how to watch for them and avoid the most troublesome ones. The Dean’s next words took him by surprise.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you rest just yet, my friend. I need you and your Trainee to deal with the greenhouse.” Ostel grimaced, his blue eyes a touch dull underneath furrowed pale brows. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard the rumors, but the truth is a bit more strange. I’ve made notes for you both, but the upshot is that nobody has seen to the greenhouse in about a week, and I trust you not to get, well, distracted.”
Serril snapped back to the present and watched as Jayin caught herself before she ran muddy fingers through her straight brown hair. “This is absurd, Serril. I mean, I can understand getting distracted by the Hawkbrothers and those astounding creatures, but this!” She gestured again, the trowel gripped as delicately as a scalpel might have been, slender fingers maintaining control at all times. Somehow the gesture took in the Healers’ Collegium, Bardic, the Heralds, the Palace and the surrounding city–and made it clear that she found them all lacking. Jayin had grown up in a traveling performers’ caravan, and the drama learned in the tents and the wagons occasionally surfaced.
“Healers are only human. And with the Heir renouncing the Crown on top of everything else–”
“Smartest thing she could have done,” Jayin muttered.
“–it’s upset the apple cart, as it were. And yes, Herald-Mage Elspeth was politically smart to do what she did, but, my goodness, Jayin, I’d expect you to keep that opinion to yourself. There’s more than enough uproar throughout the capital without a soon-to-be Healer interjecting her opinions in so impolitic a manner.” He chuckled as he dug his fingers into the next pot, where a plant was barely surviving. He added quietly, “Not that the rest of them haven’t been, but at least we can attempt to present an air of neutrality.” He had the Healing Gift–like Jayin, which was why they’d been paired–but greenery responded to his particular Gift quite well. Serril gently pulled the plant out of the pot and transplanted it to another, cushioning it with his Gift against the shock of the move. The new soil was better suited for the plant anyway. A faint surge of energy, and he felt the roots “wake up” and settle into the new soil with what, in a human, he’d have called a contented sigh.
Jayin snorted. “Since you yourself taught me about maintaining that neutrality, I’ll presume you’re teasing me, especially since there’s not another Healer anywhere near here–” She stopped, about to gesture yet again with the trowel, when the hurried knock at the greenhouse door interrupted her. Serril kept himself from laughing, but only barely. Fatigue had lowered his guard too, it seemed.
“Come in!” he managed.
As the Healer walked in, Serril thought, Thank goodness it’s Tessa and not B
rone. The Healer was obviously distracted, though. As she began speaking, Tessa didn’t even see the interior of the greenhouse or the two Healers painted with mud, fertilizer, and pieces of dead plants.
“I’ll need a few leaves of the woundwort, no more than three, and—” She stopped dead as she refocused on her surroundings. “Blessed Haven, this place is a disaster! And look at you two!”
At that, Serril lost control completely, sagging against the workbench and wheezing laughter to Tessa’s obvious surprise. Jayin very primly placed the rusted trowel next to her and then planted her hands on her hips. In the midst of his laughter, Serril managed to remember her pose for the next time he teased her about how you could take the girl from the theater, but you couldn’t take the theater out of the girl.
“If it weren’t you, Healer Tessa, I’d tell you there was none to be had. It’s in bad shape and might not survive another few days.” She steadfastly ignored her mentor’s further laughter, instead giving him a polite yet disapproving look. As Jayin’s left eyebrow went up, Serril turned away to keep himself from giggling further.
Tessa grinned at them both. “Back less than a day and Ostel’s already put you to work. My apologies, Trainee Jayin. I’m on an errand for the female gryphon–Hydona, her name is–and we’re comparing medicinal herbs and uses. She may well be a treasure trove for all that she can’t use a mortar and pestle.” She paused a moment, then continued, “Fair enough, the woundwort’s out of bounds. Why don’t we pick a few leaves from the plants that will survive it, then?”
Jayin’s eyes drooped, and Serril reflected that he probably didn’t look much better. The greenhouse had been set to rights as best as they were able: floors, tables, and tools cleaned, the plants likely to survive given as much care as possible, and requests sent off for replacements for the unrecoverable ones.
When they’d arrived, it had been midmorning; they hadn’t eaten all day, and they’d barely made it to dinner. The two of them had gotten what food was left, and they now slowly made their way from the refectory toward their rooms. The long day had definitely taken its toll on both of them; Jayin navigated the path more by memory than by actually looking at it.
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