Hugh burst into the room with such force he might have dented the door.
“Absolutely not!” he roared, and began to pace. “You are not a … a …”
“Prize?”
Hugh seemed slightly surprised to find Theo sitting at the dressing table, as if he hadn’t thought to look for her in his frustration. “Yes! A prize to be paraded about like … like …”
“I would prefer to be a prize rather than a burden,” she murmured, while she watched Hugh in the dressing table mirror. Natalie had squeaked at his entrance, but quickly resumed her brushing once she assessed he wasn’t an immediate threat. Hugh’s shirt was sloppy, as if he’d just thrown it on, and his hair was a little flattened on one side. He stopped his pacing and looked at her directly with a furrowed brow.
“Burden?”
Theo rose from the dressing table. His eyes widened, perhaps because she was only wearing a shift.
“I … I … you … aren’t.”
He stepped away as she crossed to the bed and the gown laid out for her there. Natalie followed, though she kept her eyes downcast; it seemed Hugh’s father enforced the same rules for his servants as her mother did.
“Over the shift, Natalie?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady. It’s clean from last night. The neck shouldn’t be too low for it.” Natalie reached for the gown and Hugh stumbled back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“That I would be dressing?”
“I thought … my father’s demands —”
“Were they demands? Natalie relayed them as requests.”
“What right has he to —”
“This is his castle, isn’t it? Not yours yet. Therefore I am under his protection. He certainly has the same rights as any would in that situation.”
Hugh seemed to have run out of indignation. “I … I … took it differently,” he admitted.
“I’m not saying there aren’t layers to the request.”
“There are always layers,” Hugh smiled.
“You know as well as I,” she murmured, and raised her arms for Natalie to pull the gown on over her head. Hugh had resumed his pacing, but did so more thoughtfully now.
“They aren’t going to let us sit out the game,” he said.
“Would you want to?”
He thought about his answer. “Yes, honestly. If that was an option … if running away with you was an option.”
“So I am not only a burden?”
Natalie quit fussing with the placement and twist of the belt, and discreetly drifted back to the dressing table.
Hugh stepped closer and swept his eyes over her with a quirk of a smile. “Not only a burden,” he agreed, and then he fished a jeweled box out of his pocket with a resigned sigh. “Since you are willing to play the game, this was to be yours. Your sixteenth birthday gift. An engagement gift. Father would like to see you wearing it now.”
Hugh glanced, ever so briefly, at the promise mark on her inner forearm; the gown had short sleeves.
“No one will assume it isn’t yours,” she lamely offered.
“It isn’t mine,” Hugh brusquely replied, and all but thrust the box at her.
She took it. It contained an enormous clear diamond set in a white gold ring. She looked to Hugh, but he was already moving toward the door.
“I’ll escort you to breakfast. Just let me find my boots.” He spoke over his shoulder as he reached for the still open door, and, indeed, Theo noticed that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.
She handed the jeweled box to Natalie, who seemed awed to handle it, and placed the beautiful ring on her own finger … this action came with a sizing spell and a hollow feeling.
Hugh had paused to watch her from the doorway. Some of his earlier stiffness had faded. “It was my mother’s.”
“It is my pleasure to wear it then,” she responded formally.
He nodded and turned away. Then he spoke without looking at her. “I would have been the one, ten years ago, to place it on your finger, but with your mark, even faded as it is …”
Her mark.
She was so silly to feel hollow. If Hugh had formally offered the ring … Well, she wasn’t certain what would have happened, but she did remember the pain that had shot through her head when they’d kissed outside her bedroom. She hadn’t thought about the cause then with everything that had been happening, but now that the mark had revealed itself …
She looked up from the diamond nestled on her right hand. “And I would have accepted, ten years ago,” she finally responded.
Hugh nodded, and then left.
Natalie held a ribbon up for her hair, and Theo allowed herself to be distracted from Hugh, the ring, and the mark that sat uncomfortably on her forearm. But, as uncomfortable as it was, it was still there, still evidence of Ren’s claim and her acceptance.
∞
More days passed, but what felt like weeks of battling her memories and absorbing her powers was probably only about three days. Three days where she only felt close to peace with her sword in her hand, the sand beneath her feet, and the sun on her face. She could barely eat breakfast, for all the energy of all the castle’s inhabitants was gathered too closely. She tried to avoid conversations with the Chancellor that Hugh also attempted to buffer. Then there was more sparring, and more blessings, until no one stood before her. She’d carved herself through the warriors and back again. No one was left to fight.
It wasn’t even noon on the third day.
She tried to tamp down the rising panic. It compressed her chest as she waited for someone, for anyone, to offer their steel, but the warriors were winded and bruised.
Still, she waited.
The crowd began to shift. They had been coming and going all day, more circumspect with their attendance, as the Chancellor had been clear that the castle still needed to run smoothly, “Despite the display the Lady of Light was putting on in the yard.” Theo’s discomfort grew stronger and stronger, and she had a feeling she might be emanating it into the now-restless crowd.
She didn’t realize she was on her knees until the boy from the stables pushed his cup of water into her hands. She spilt half the contents in her first attempt to get it to her lips. The boy steadied her hand with his, and, with his other hand pressed to the back of her head, he guided the cup to her mouth.
She felt his utter trust like a light breeze blowing through her mind.
That he would touch her, that he would risk the potential magical backlash, was almost wondrous.
She reached out and touched her fingertips to his cheek.
He was so young … maybe seven. “Bryan,” she named him.
“Yes, my lady,” he responded, and didn’t move away.
“I see you.” His eyes widened in amazement, but she could indeed see his spirit, especially where it danced underneath her fingers still touching his cheek. This spirit of his loved animals, and contained a great — and currently untapped — ability to heal and care for them. His position in the stables, despite his youth, became obvious.
But he was just too young … and his clothing wasn’t well tended.
“Where are your parents, Bryan?”
That question caused him to drop his eyes to the cup clutched in his hands … a reminder of home … cherished and now shared …
“Dead?” she pushed.
He nodded and allowed her access to his memory of them, even if he didn’t realize he’d offered it up.
So, yes. Both of his parents were dead. Within months of each other. His mother in childbirth, which made no sense when healers should be available in every village, and his father, in a, perhaps grief-fueled, farming accident six months ago. Bryan had come to the castle with his newborn sister, Rose, after he’d figured out he had no idea how to care for the babe. They’d taken the children in, but … who was actually looking after the boy?
“Have you met Lord Madoc’s amazing horse?”
Bryan’s eyes flew up to hers; he knew exactly what horse she spoke of, but … he wasn’t supposed to bother the horses. She smiled at the bits of excited memory he practically flung her way. “I think you will find him a magnificent beast.”
“Magical,” the boy breathed and she laughed. So he had met the Beast, whether he was supposed to or not.
“You can feel that, can you?”
The boy nodded.
“Good. We will introduce you to Lord Madoc, then. He will want someone with your magic to be tending his horse.”
The boy couldn’t speak; fear and anticipation seemed to hold his tongue, so Theo simply kissed his cheek lightly. He shuddered as the weight of her blessing settled on him. In order to bring the boy under her protection in a way that would transcend her death, she had tied him to her, just lightly, but he still felt it. It was the first time she’d willingly bound herself to any person, and she felt the rightness of it.
Bryan raised a hand to his cheek to touch the spot she’d kissed, and an utterly spirit-filled smile spread over his grimy face. He understood. He transferred his hand from his cheek to her own. She felt the tingle of his utter acceptance of her offer.
“And my sister,” he asked humbly.
“I look forward to meeting her.”
Bryan helped her gain her feet, and she took a moment to stand with her hand on his shoulder, so the crowd would witness and understand her claim. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.
The Commander stepped forward and unsheathed his sword. His offer to spar was unusual, for Commanders had no need to prove themselves, and certainly wouldn’t do so with lesser opponents. Theo understood the honor he offered.
She gave Bryan a little push toward the kitchen; he was currently gaping at the Commander as he approached, as if he’d lost control of his senses. The Commander was indeed impressive. His sword was twice as long and as broad as her own, not even calculating for his greater reach. Interestingly, the intricate crossguard of his weapon almost completely covered the Commander’s hand. Theo wondered if this protected an old injury or was simply a design choice. The cook looked like the sort who’d like a chance to fatten Bryan up, so she urged the boy to cross the yard to her.
Then all thoughts of the complicated present were pushed aside, as Theo met the Commander’s offered steel.
For a practice fight — no extra powers allowed — it was epic.
They danced for at least two hours, but neither of them flagged. He pushed her to reach father, to jump, twist, and spin higher and smoother. He was almost her equal. Ren, or Dougal, would have made quick work of him, but Theo relished every blow, every counter. Except what made him so impressive, his strength and his flawless technique, also hampered him. She was faster and unpredictable.
She’d danced away from disarming him three times before his frustration peaked.
“Just end it,” he bellowed and charged her. She spun away and walked the rail of the fence he’d tried to pin her against, scattering fence-sitting spectators in her wake. She refused to end the fight. She didn’t want to think any further or be any further than this moment.
She managed to wring another half hour or so out of him before he threw his weapon to the sand. “That’s four times you should have had my sword,” he declared over the incredulous gasps of his warriors. “I ask for your respect. To acknowledge your abilities. Allow me my dignity.”
She nodded, utterly ashamed at her behavior.
He picked up his sword and she disarmed him. Even though it meant that none of the assembled could beat her. Even though it meant there was no other way to keep her haunting memories at bay.
He bared his neck for her, though his position held no one above him save the Chancellor. She placed her bare hand on his neck and whispered, “Thank you.”
“Your blessing is the greatest gift, my lady. Accept my sword, my strength, and my spirit. I would stand in your defense. I would trade my life for yours. We all would. Do you allow us?”
The heaviness of this request could not be denied, but, then again, she should have seen it coming. Her myth was even stronger than her sword.
Hugh’s voice called out from behind her, “Before you deny his pledge, know there is a war coming. Father’s seers have seen it. I imagine if you choose to look for it, you will too.” She didn’t take her eyes off the Commander’s bowed head as Hugh crossed the yard. “These warriors will be your first defense. Certainly you would protect them with your blessing.”
“They’ve had my blessing.”
“But not your acceptance of the situation.”
She raised her head with an angry retort in her throat, and then understanding dawned. She turned toward the warriors assembled before her, but she couldn’t make herself say the words, make the claim that Hugh asked of her.
“Envoys have come and gone,” Hugh pressed. “Messengers bring news of an army moving through the valley, and of people abandoning their homes and farms. It seems the Preacher is rallying his troops. We will fight, and some will die, for you.”
She removed her hand from the Commander’s neck. He stood and stepped to the side.
“In that case,” Hugh continued, “It seems you are out of warriors to fight. Except one.” He pulled out his sword, one undoubtedly handcrafted for him. The significance of the gold-inlayed animal totem carved along the blade was probably lost on most: an eagle and a lion, perhaps to represent his parents. His appearance as the gryphon suddenly made sense.
“Not you, Hugh.” She didn’t raise her sword in response.
“Why not? I am well trained by the Commander himself.”
“Indeed, my lady, I can vouch for the Lord’s ability with a sword,” the Commander quietly offered.
“No,” she repeated.
“You need someone to fight.”
“I need someone to beat me … I think,” she answered, and finally looked at Hugh in the eye. “And I don’t want you to be that person.”
That halted his insistence, and he could only tease. “But how will I receive my blessing, if you don’t defeat me?”
She smiled, and, laying her sword over her knee, she knelt in the sand before him. “It is your blessing I seek.”
A thrumming whisper ran through the crowd.
“It is worthless.”
“And yet, you hesitate to give it.”
Hugh stepped quickly forward and touched the back of her neck. She felt oddly exposed in front of a crowd of people she barely knew, but who might soon be following her into battle. All because of a prophecy she was trying to not believe in, but kept fulfilling.
“You have my blessing, Theodora Rudan, child of Rhea Rudan, the Apex of Cascadia, Spirit-Blessed and Prophecy-Bound, Our Lady of Light,” Hugh’s voice shook. ”I accept … I accept your offered sword, your strength, and your spirit.”
“Praise be!” The crowd cried, and she felt the power of it rumble around her.
She looked up at Hugh. His hand fell away from the back of her neck.
“I won’t have you kneel before me again,” he gruffly chided.
“Perhaps I shall do so often then,” she teased, and his shock was soon overtaken by his amused laughter.
“Praise be,” he said, and the crowd repeated gustily.
She stood and brushed off her skirts. Hugh leaned in to whisper, “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you just did there. You are almost as sly as your mother.”
She couldn’t tell if he disapproved of or admired her action, but it was him who the eyes of the crowd followed as he walked away, so she knew she’d made a good choice.
Hugh might be bound to her without his consent, but these were his people by ancestral right. They needed a solid, dependable leader, not one who gaped at the seams and wasn’t sure of her place in the world.
∞
She walked away to fight the memories in her head alone. They weren’t as unwelcome and painful as before, but they s
till clouded her eyes even when she wanted to look elsewhere.
∞
They’d brought her a troll.
A troll.
She’d only ever heard rumors of their existence, and now, because she’d been moping around and suffering through basic drills, they’d gone out and risked their lives to capture a troll, alive.
A troll for her to fight.
Trolls and humans didn’t interact. They were not of the Before, as far as anyone knew, and had only appeared after the Rising. Even now, reports of their existence were inconsistent. Humans, who lived deeper in the forests, days from civilization, supposedly had dealings with the trolls, but often their stories made it seem that trolls considered them some sort of sport. She hadn’t known that the Chancellor had any trolls in his region, though they certainly weren’t under his governance, or, unfortunately, his protection.
The troll stood three times taller, and, at least, four times wider than any of the ten warriors who held him chained in the middle of the yard. A single bellow knocked one of the guards off his feet. For all his girth, the troll had no neck and small eyes, so as he was crushing her with his bare hands she might be able to use his lack of peripheral vision against him …
Still, she felt the thrill of such an opponent.
The Chancellor, looking pleased, and Hugh, looking utterly displeased, were in attendance this morning. It was obvious this had been the Chancellor’s idea: capturing other beings for her to fight as he once had captured such for Hugh to imprint … though perhaps the troll was to serve a dual purpose.
She stood before the troll, sword in hand, and he stopped struggling against his chains to stare back at her. His clothing was obviously handmade, but the only tears it bore looked as if they’d come from a recent fight, probably his capture. She glanced at the warriors gathered around him. They looked a bit battered, but generally pleased with themselves.
“You? Fight? Me?” The troll blinked its relatively tiny eyes at her, but she was the more surprised of the two of them that he spoke English.
“Yes,” she answered.
The troll laughed.
Disgruntled that he didn’t see her as any sort of a foe, she raised her sword and activated all the spells it held. This display caused him to clutch his belly in mirth, thereby pulling over the two men attached by chains to his arm, and laugh harder.
Spirit Binder Page 14