After a long moment Brom released Sterling and stepped away. He pulled a tablecloth from one of the long tables and wrapped it around the sword, placing it on the nearest table. “You’re shaking,” Brom said, pointing to the table where he’d placed the sword. “Go ahead and sit down.”
She felt weak, the adrenaline that had fueled her fight with Gilda melted away. She sat down in front of the sword, Brom standing over her, silent. “You’re bleeding,” He said, sitting across from her. He ripped a strip of fabric from the tablecloth, “Give me your hand.”
Sterling put her hand in his.
“Who is Hemi?” he asked while he wrapped the fabric around her hand.
The question caught Sterling off guard, “Hemi?”
“Yes,” Brom tied the fabric in a knot and released her hand. He stood before continuing, “During one of your…” he waved his hand, “nightmares you called out to someone named Hemi.”
Sterling could feel the blood drain from her face. Her nightmares had escalated over the past week. It seemed they followed her during her waking moments. “Hemi,” Sterling licked her lips, “was the man who raised me, he was my uncle.”
“Your uncle?” Brom leaned forward, hands on the table. His eyes stared deeply into hers.
“For most of my life I thought he was a blood relation,” Sterling shifted in the seat, “but I learned too late that it was in name only.”
“Too late? What do you mean?” Brom asked.
Sterling thought back to the time that seemed so long ago. A time when her life was normal, and she was surrounded by love and warmth. “It was my birthday, my twenty-first,” Sterling swallowed past a lump that had suddenly formed in her throat, “Hemi called me into the study.” Sterling could distinctly remember the look on Hemi’s face when he revealed the truth. Sterling smiled at the memory, “He was so nervous when he told me that he was not my uncle. I was so confused, he had always told me that my parents had died in a fire when I was a baby.”
“What else did he say?” Brom stood as still as a statue as he listened to Sterling.
“He told me that my father was a Kai’Varian warrior and that he was his slave,” Sterling laughed, but there was no humor. “I thought he was joking. I remember his face was so serious, he was always so stoic and matter of fact.” Sterling took a deep breath, “But he wasn’t joking, he’d never been more serious. He said that on the day I was born, there was a battle of some sort and my parents were killed.”
Sterling looked down at her hands, “Hemi always told me I looked like my mother, but he never talked about her.”
“You said you were a Rin’Ovana, did Hemi say any more?” Brom encouraged her to continue.
“Yeah,” Sterling said looking up at Brom, “my father, he said, was a Veillen warrior and that his name was Khort Rin’Ovana.”
Brom turned away from her, but she could tell by the way the muscles in his back trembled that he was on the verge of losing his composure. Sterling imagined it was a rare occurrence for Brom to show even the slightest bit of emotion.
“Rin’Ovana?” Sterling jumped from the shock of hearing Orrven’s voice behind her, “What’s going on Brom?” Orrven closed the door to the upper floors as he stepped fully into the room. He glanced at Sterling, his brow furrowed before turning his piercing gaze to Brom, “Explain.”
Brom took a deep breath as if to clear his head, “I’ve suspected this for a while now,” Brom said, looking at Sterling, “but I wasn’t certain until today.” Brom turned his gaze to Orrven, “Sterling is the heir to the Rin’Ovana Tohm.”
“You cannot be serious Brom,” Orrven laughed, but there was no humor, “the heir to the Rin’Ovana’s? Everyone knows that Khort’s child died in the graekull attack that nearly destroyed Sela’Char. Just because she claims to be a Rin’Ovana does not make it true. I swear,” Orrven turned his gaze to Sterling, “if you cause any more troubles I’ll throw out of Pan’Dale.”
Sterling could tell Brom was barely holding his anger at bay. His jaw was clenched, and he held his hands in tight fists, “The body was never found, it disappeared along with Khort’s slave.” Brom pointed at Sterling, “The man who raised her, his name was Hemi Rhesida, the same name as the man who was Khort’s slave.”
“That is your proof?” Orrven scoffed at Brom’s reasoning. “You just want her to be Khort’s child. Hemi is a common name in Duenin, you know that. Why are you so desperate to find the Rin’Ovana heir?”
“Because I made a vow to Khort that I would protect his child,” Brom confessed, taking a deep breath. “A vow that I have been unable to fulfill,” Brom looked at Sterling, “until now.”
“Brom, listen to what you are saying,” Orrven tried to reason with Brom, “she has no proof of who she says she is.”
“You want proof,” Brom glared at Orrven, “the proof is right in front of you!” Brom pointed at the sword on the table in front of Sterling.
“It’s just sword,” Orrven sighed. “You claim she is the Rin’Ovana heir and the only proof you have is a name and this sword.”
“This sword,” Brom’s voice remained calm, but Sterling could tell he was barely holding in his anger. “is a Veillen bloodsword. This sword is the most important tool a Veillen has in fighting the graekull,” he explained to Orrven. “When it is forged, the Veillen’s blood is mixed in with the steel.”
“Yes, I know,” Orrven dismissed Brom’s explanation, “I know all about your bloodswords. I find the whole process creepy and weird.”
“The process ensures that only the Veillen can wield that weapon,” Brom explained, reaching for the hilt of the black sword. Sterling gasped when red spikes suddenly appeared preventing Brom from picking up the sword. “This was Khort Rin’Ovana’s sword, he named it Faren. It saw him through many battles and protected him from graekull up until he died.” Brom pointed at Sterling, “If she has Khort’s blood running through her veins then the sword will accept her.” Brom stared at Orrven for a long moment, “and that, brother, is your proof she is the heir of the Rin’Ovana Tohm.”
My father’s sword. Sterling stared at the weapon that lay before her, examining it in a new light. My father wielded this sword, his hands touched it. The blade’s presence was overwhelming as it lay against the stark white of the tablecloth. The longer she stared at it the greater her desire to run her fingers along the edge of the blade. She could hear her heart beat as it pounded in her ears, the blood coursing through her veins seemed to culminate into her finger tips. The sword called to her, demanding that she reach out her hand and take it. Sterling could not deny the blade and with trembling fingers she took hold of the hilt, her blood rushed to the palm of her hand and pushed, excruciatingly, against her skin as if trying to escape her body and meld with the sword.
As her fingers wrapped around the hilt she could feel heat emanate from the weapon. The heat began to throb and vibrate in time with her own heartbeat. The heat pulsated up her arm, over her shoulders, and down her spine until her entire body drummed in time with the sword. As the rush of heat consumed her, an overwhelming force of happiness and joy washed over Sterling. She could feel the tears as they gathered along her lashes and fall down her cheeks to drop on to her hand.
The feelings were so overwhelming she found it hard to breathe past the emotion. She closed her eyes, and memories that were not her own filled her vision. Visions of a woman laughing, her hand resting on her round belly large with a baby.
Sterling gasped when the woman opened her eyes and stared back at Sterling with silver eyes that mirrored Sterling’s. Sylvie, her mother, was beautiful, with long brown hair that hung in waves around her shoulders. Her round cheeks were bright with a flush as she smiled at Sterling. Sylvie raised her hand from her belly and reached for Sterling. She could feel the soft touch of her mother’s fingers as she ran them along Sterling’s cheek. She raised her own hand to her mothers, but the hand was not her own. It was Khort’s hand, rough and worn with calluses from many years of battle.
&n
bsp; The emotions of love and happiness flooded Sterling until she could no longer bear it. She released her hold on the sword and the vision vanished from her sight. Her heart ached from the emotions she hadn’t felt in a long time. Sterling turned her eyes to Brom who stood above her with a stunned look upon his face. His usually olive skin had gone pale and a sheen of sweat dotted his brow. He wiped his face, turned and walked away to the far corner of the room with his head down, his hands on his hips.
The mood in the room turned somber, with Brom deep in thought and Orrven staring down at her as if she were some oddity on display. What am I supposed to do now? Sterling thought. She wanted to reach for the sword again, but she was unsure she could handle the overwhelming emotions she felt while touching the weapon.
The door to the upper chambers opened and all eyes turned to Moira as she stepped into the room. She looked from Sterling, to Orrven, and then to Brom. She must have realized something was wrong, “What’s happened?” When no one answered she walked over to Sterling and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, “Are you all right?”
Sterling couldn’t speak but nodded and turned her gaze back to the sword.
“Orrven?” Moira questioned her husband. “Tell me what happened.”
Orrven glanced at Brom, “Your brother claims that she is the heir to the Rin’Ovana Tohm, that she is Khort and Sylvie’s daughter.”
Brom turned around and approached Orrven, his face was hard with anger, “You witnessed her touching the sword, there is no claiming, there is proof right before your eyes.”
“I’ve never seen that sword before,” Orrven countered, “that could be any Veillen sword for all I know.”
Moira stepped in between her brother and husband, “Will you two stop arguing?” Moira glanced at the sword on the table. Although she was young at the time she would never forget the love she received from Khort and Sylvie, they had taken her and Brom in when Moira was just four, and Brom seven. She would also never forget the weapon that was never far from Khort’s side. “That is Faren, Khort’s Bloodsword.”
Orrven sighed, “What now, Brom?” Orrven conceded and stepped away, “What are your plans now that we know she is a Rin’Ovana? You can’t just march her into Sela’Char.”
“The Ar’Bethnots would eat her alive,” Moira said, “but the Dal’Rymples may be more open to receiving her as the heir. They’ve always been kind to the Rin’Ovanas.”
Sterling was lost in the conversation and opened her mouth to speak but could not get a word in when Orrven talked over her, “You’d have to convince not only Karroll as the Arl of Da’Gaihen, but Norden as well. You’d have an easier time with Karroll, but the King,” Orrven shook his head, “King Norden is as stubborn as any mule.”
“Um…” Sterling started but was interrupted again by Moira.
“Norden may be stubborn, but he’s not unreasonable.”
“Excu…” This time it was Brom that interrupted.
“We’ll start with Karroll, he has a great influence over my uncle.” Brom rubbed his bearded chin, “The Dal’Rymples will follow what the Da’Gaihen’s do and that just leaves the Ar’Bethnots.”
Tired of being ignored, Sterling stood up and slapped her hand on the table, “Excuse me, but what are you talking about? What does my being a Rin’Ovana have anything to do with what you are talking about?”
“A Rin’Ovana?” A new voice entered the conversation from the front doors of the Keep.
Moira, Brom, and Orrven all sighed in unison at the boy that stood in the entrance way. He was slim, with lean muscle and had the same olive skin as everyone else in Kai’Vari, but it was smooth and well-kept unlike those who spent their days in the sun. His hair was blonde and hung in tiny curls around his head. His green eyes held an air of superiority as he sneered down at Sterling. Next to him stood another boy, but he was the exact opposite. This boy was darker and well-built with a broad chest and arms that had seen hard labor. He had the same green eyes as his companion, but they seemed much softer.
Behind them was an older man that bore the same tattoos as Brom, “Brom! There you are.” He bellowed the greeting and marched his two captives across the hall and released them at Brom’s feet. The two fell on their hands and knees grousing about their treatment.
“Gregor.” Brom greeted the man.
“I give to you Oramek Fal’Barbner and Tibal Ar’Bethnot – your nor’Veillen.” He hit both boys in the back of their heads, “Bow to the Tarkain, you will be at his mercy for the next six months. I would not gain his ire if I were you.”
“Tarkain!” Both Oramek and Tibal yelled out the strange greeting and bowed to Brom.
“Brom trains the nor’Veillen to master their Velkuva,” Moira whispered to Sterling while Brom greeted the two, “Tarkain is an ancient honorific given to a trainer while the nor in nor’Veillen means new or young. The Veillen guard must learn to speak the ancient tongue because many of the chants were written over five hundred years ago.”
“Rin’Ovana?” Tibal stood and stepped forward and his tone was one of disbelief, “Impossible. You very well know the Rin’Ovana clan was disbanded some twenty years ago.”
Sterling’s heart stopped in her chest. She could feel the blood drain from her face. He directed his question to her, “What? You didn’t know?” Tibal laughed, “This is grand. The Rin’Ovana clan was dissolved after the death of that prig Khort. After he went and got himself killed.”
“That’s enough Tibal.” Brom growled. His hazel eyes had gone dark with anger.
“But she should know that those idiot elders couldn’t decide who the Arl should be. The King dissolved the clan and divided their lands among the three neighboring Tohms when an heir could not be produced.”
She could tell by the look in Moira and Brom’s eyes that Tibal was telling the truth. Sterling could feel her anger heighten as the realization took hold. I have no family? It was all a lie? What was the point of coming here? Her one desire to have a place to call home and family to surround her was gone? What was the point of traveling to this homeland, this foreign place, to only find herself in the same situation she’d left? “It was all a lie!” She yelled, striking her hand against the hard table. All at once the fires in the Great Hall flared. The torches and the fire that was a constant in the fireplace were set ablaze.
Brom had seen this before, the night of her dream when she yelled out. The fire had ignited and scorched the hearth and mantel. She truly is a Devian with unknown powers. Before her anger could get out of hand Brom approached her, “Sterling,” he said standing in front of her, blocking the other’s view of her. He leaned over and very calmly spoke to her, “it wasn’t a lie, you still have a family, they just need to know you are alive and they will come to you.” Brom prayed to Orla that no one else noticed the fist-sized imprint on the thick oaken table. Her strength is something to be wary of.
Moira thankfully stepped in, “Let us get you upstairs, you must be exhausted from your ordeal.”
Sterling nodded, her anger sloughing off her shoulders and leaving her weak. She stood on wobbly legs, her vision started to dim, and she suddenly found herself lifted off the ground and in Brom’s arms. His gentle concern despite his hard exterior caused tears to gather in the back of Sterling’s eyes. She refused to let a single tear fall and buried her face in his neck. She was exhausted. First Gilda, then the ordeal with Orrven and Brom, seeing her parents, and then that awful Tibal. She clung to Brom, his warmth soothing and the pull of exhaustion was too much for her to push away.
“She’s asleep,” Brom whispered to Moira as he followed her to the upper floors.
“She must be exhausted,” Moira stopped outside Brom’s door and said, “I don’t think we should put her back in that room for now.”
Brom understood her hesitance and nodded his agreement. Moira pulled the covers over Sterling after Brom laid her in the middle of his bed. “I can’t imagine what she has been through and to find out she has no family.” Moi
ra took a deep breath to clear her mind, “We’ll be her family.”
“Aye,” Brom agreed as they left Sterling to her dreams.
29
Lessons Learned
Dan’Kell, 17th Turcia, 1021
Evening
Sterling jolted awake, a scream on her lips. Her heart raced as she clutched her chest where the beast’s claws had pierced her heart. The night shirt she wore was soaked in sweat, as was the bed cover she lay upon. It was the same nightmare that had plagued her recently, of being chased by a monster.
She glanced around the room as she forced herself to relax. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon, the sky a fiery orange as the sun’s rays were pushed aside by the oncoming night. I’m in Brom’s room, she thought, throwing the covers off. Just like the man, the room was simple and served a purpose.
She was glad they had not put her back into her own room, as she had no desire to be back in that gilded cage with the possibility of Gilda attacking her again. Sterling felt bad for the old woman having lost her son. She imagined it felt much like the loss of Brigit and Hemi. Sterling could understand Gilda’s desire to get revenge, after all the same feelings swirled around in the pit of Sterling’s stomach every time she thought of Engram and what he did to her loved ones.
Sterling gingerly put her feet on the floor. “I’ll kill him,” Sterling mumbled as she stood. The sounds of metal on metal drew her attention to the windows and the field below. She wobbled her way across the room to the windows.
Like her room, there were two windows on either side of the fire place, each with a padded seat where one could sit and look out over the grounds. The twilight air was cool, and the thin dress offered little protection against the chill. Sterling pulled the warm blanket off the bed and sat on one of the padded benches.
Sitting in the window she watched the comings and goings of the many warriors that still sparred in the courtyard despite the waning light. The warriors here were much larger than Duenin’s soldiers. They were built like oxen and carried swords that Sterling knew most men of Duenin would not be able to lift.
The Elemental Union: Book One Devian Page 21