WayFarer

by Janalyn Voigt

  Maered’s mother, Brianda, turned from scrubbing pots in a sink supplied with water piped into the kitchen from the Cobble River. “Tsk, girl! Don’t be disturbin’ the princess wi’ such.”

  “Nonsense,” Aewen declared in robust tones as she laid hold of the basket. “I’ve come this night to tend the poor.”

  Brianda gave her a hesitant look. “Are you certain, milady?”

  Her heart sank. Why did Brianda address her with formality? And for that matter, why did the others gathered about the battered trestle table stare at her so?

  She swept from the room, going up another flight of stairs made of equally worn wood. A small arched door gave onto the bailey and the side passage leading to the gatehouse.

  “Who goes there?” The watchguard’s voice halted her.

  “Let me pass, Lyriss. It’s only Aewen.”

  From behind the portcullis above the watchtower, Lyriss gaped at her in surprise, and then broke into a toothy grin. “I thought to see you giving alms no more.”

  “I will serve while I may.” She choked on her brave words but took a steadying breath. “Raise the portcullis so I and the others who will soon follow may distribute leftovers from the king’s table.”

  Chains clanked as the portcullis raised with a groan. Outside the castle, the poor waited. She walked among them, not fearing these faces she knew. Her friends hailed her with gladness and without jostling stretched out thin hands to take the portions she gave. She smiled to herself. She’d taught them that, to consider one another even in their need.

  She recognized the face of Jost, a weaver whose cottage stood just north of Willowa’s farm, and gave him the last trencher. “Do you have news of Caedmon? Does he heal?”

  “Aye, he heals.” Jost delivered himself of this speech and bowed his head with a jerk, acting as strange as had those inside the kitchen. She swallowed against a lump in her throat. When had she become someone else?

  Movement caught her eye. At the edge of the torchlight pranced a black horse with wings—a creature of surpassing beauty bearing a Kindren youth with fair hair tinged red in the torchlight from the guardhouse. She took a step toward him but halted, speechless.

  “Well met, fair one.” His voice, soft and cool, stirred her.

  She stared back at him with wide eyes.

  His brows drew together. “Do you speak?”

  She dipped her head and found her voice. “You are of the Kindren.”

  He smiled. “I am indeed of the Kindren, as are my companions. Pray tell the watchguard that Lof Shraen Elcon seeks audience with King Euryon. But if the hour be too late, we can return tomorrow.”

  His light gaze went over her as he spoke, touching her hair, her eyes, her mouth, speaking things his mouth did not say. She stumbled backward and ran from him as laughter broke from the Kindren riders who accompanied him.

  “Princess Aewen, are you unharmed?” The voice of Darbin, one of the gatehouse guards, rang out as she approached. The sounds of mirth behind her ceased, and she realized the Kindren riders must have overheard. They’d taken her for a servant before, despite the rich garments she wore. It was one thing, it seemed, for a Kindren to laugh at a servant, but quite another to mock a princess of Westerland. She turned her head and shamed them all with a glance. But her gaze snagged with the light-eyed Kindren’s.

  ****

  Never had Elcon seen hair so glossy and black that it shone like an eberrac’s wing. She seemed an exquisite gem, or a rare flower, one he might never find again. She watched him from eyes of palest blue with all the grace of a doe. He could not look away. She spoke to the guard, then without a backward glance entered the gatehouse. Bereft of her presence, the moon’s glow surely dimmed.

  Kai drew up beside him. Elcon heard the sound of his voice but looked at him in helpless confusion, for he did not know what he said. At sight of the dark-haired Elder flower, Princess Aewen as the guard named her, Elcon’s life had changed forever. Never had he desired anything as much as he yearned for another glimpse of her. He resolved to find a way to meet Aewen again, to drink in her soft voice, and feast on her beauty. She was an Elder and he a Kindren. It could never be more, but he would have that much.

  “Lof Shraen?” Kai interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Kai. I’m befuddled. I’ve just lost my soul.”

  Kai whistled beneath his breath. “The Princess Aewen?”

  Elcon answered him with silence.

  The guard signaled their admittance to Cobbleford Castle, and they rode into the gatehouse, the graystone walls closing about them. Elcon dismounted and flung the reins to the groom who met him. He followed the servant who led them by lanthorn light into the rectangular outer bailey skirted by covered cobblestone paths.

  Cobbleford’s great hall was small compared to Torindan’s but elegant nonetheless. New rushes strewed the floor, windows stretched tall, and the ceiling vaulted into shadow. Elcon bowed before Euryon, seated on the dais. Euryon stood and returned his bow, although Elcon thought he bent a measuring look upon him. “Welcome, Shraen Elcon of Rivenn, Lof Shraen of Faeraven.”

  “I am glad to receive Westerland’s hospitality at such short notice. I thank you.”

  Euryon inclined his head with perfect manners, although his lady, Queen Inydde, looked upset. Elcon greeted her and kissed her hand, but she snatched it back sooner than might be considered seemly. His gaze roamed about the room as he sought for his beautiful Elder flower.

  “Will you not take food?” Inydde asked.

  Elcon would have liked to accept her hospitality, but he knew better than to strain Inydde’s welcome. He shook his head. “We ate upon the way. But we will take something warming to drink, if you please.”

  Inydde nodded to a servant who waited nearby. Another servant whispered in her ear, and Inydde cast a look down the long table to exchange glances with a black-haired, brawny youth he recognized as Raefe of Darksea. She stood. “Please, take your ease. There’s room at our table. I’ve a small matter to attend but will soon return.”

  Elcon watched her go, disliking the way she carried herself as if going into battle. Cautioning himself to tread lightly with Inydde, he gave swift sympathy to whomever she sought.

  He drank mulled cider while bards played lively strains and a line of men formed in what seemed a traditional dance with much balancing and quick footwork. He sat beside King Euryon, a place having been made for him, but real speech was not possible in the cacophony of music and voices. The subject he wished to broach called for privacy, at any rate. He would wait until he had the king’s undivided attention, hopefully on the morrow.

  And then he forgot why he’d come to Westerland, for Princess Aewen accompanied Inydde upon her return. Her gaze cast downward, she approached with seeming reluctance but curtsied smoothly. It occurred to him to wonder if she had been the object of Inydde’s earlier wrath. She seemed uncomfortable, of a certain, but perhaps his presence bore the blame for that. He set himself to ease her if he could.

  “I’m grateful for the chance to meet you, Princess Aewen.”

  She looked at him in question, and he realized that in the general din she could not hear what he said. He stood and gave a polite bow to her father, and then came around the table to repeat himself close to her ear. She blushed and drew away. He looked up to find all eyes upon him. Rather than embarrass her further, he returned to his place at the table.

  He saw that she seated herself beside Prince Raefe, and that Raefe took possession of her hand. A flash of discomfort went through him. Something was wrong between them. Aewen seemed only outwardly present. How he understood this, he did not pause to wonder. It seemed he could read Aewen with the ease of breath. He tried to hide his interest but could not keep his gaze from straying to her. Indeed, he knew her every movement. When she chanced to look his way, he caught her gaze and held it, at least until Inydde, beside him, troubled herself during a lull in the music to inquire about his journey from Rivenn.

 
; Elcon pulled his attention from Aewen and turned to her mother. “We fared well enough, Your Majesty, although travel by wingabeast wearies both mind and body.”

  She looked blank but then clasped her hands together. “Of course! You refer to the winged horses of Torindan, do you not? Have you brought them with you then? I wish to see them and perhaps ride one on the morrow.”

  He smiled despite his misgivings. Riding a wingabeast required balance and training. Perhaps she would forget the notion by morning. An image rose before him, unbidden, of Aewen riding before him on Raeld, his wingabeast named for the darkest marches of the night. His arm held her in safety as her unbound hair caressed his face, and he bowed his head to kiss the back of her neck.

  His face warmed, and he wondered if he blushed, especially when Inydde gave him a strange look. He needed to guard his thoughts. It would be best if he dealt with matters in Westerland and moved on, but he could not, somehow, bring himself to contemplate a quick departure, at least not until he knew why Aewen seemed a silent ghost whose smile did not quite reach her eyes.

  ****

  Caerla pulled Aewen aside on the landing at the top of the stair. “Why the sad face?”

  “Hush! Speak softly.” Aewen peered into the darkness beyond the light from the lanthorn Murial held.

  Caerla gave her a gentle push. “Silly. No one follows us or cares what we say. Have you been reading books again? Mother says flights of poetry sicken the mind.”

  Aewen kept silence on that subject. She alone of her household valued books except, in a small way, her father, who loved his histories but did not put any store in other works.

  Murial opened the door to Aewen’s chambers, and Caerla followed them inside. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Aewen gave Caerla a quelling look, but at the concern written on her sister’s face, relented. “All right, but you’ll not like what I say.”

  “Only if you refuse to marry.”

  She curled her hands into fists. She longed to do just that, but it seemed she must endure marriage after all. Because she’d offended Raefe by leaving the feast, Mother had this night almost turned Murial out as threatened. Aewen had only just prevented disaster, and she doubted her mother would relent again.

  She longed to tell Caerla the truth, to explain that Raefe had crushed her wrist to prevent her from leaving, and that she feared him now in a way she had not before. She wanted to speak of the green-eyed Kindren king who had cast a spell over her, but she told, instead, a simpler tale. “My head hurts.”

  Caerla’s tawny eyes gleamed in the lanthorn light. “Do you speak truth?”

  Heat rose into Aewen’s face.

  “Come, and when you are ready for bed, I’ll rub lavender oil into your temples.” Murial’s call from her inner chamber saved her from responding. Caerla drew breath to say more but relented with a swift embrace. “Rest then.” She picked up the lanthorn and shook her head at Murial. “See to my sister. I can find my way next door, where Donia waits to tend me.”

  But Murial took the lanthorn from Caerla’s hand and led her from the room as if she had not spoken. Aewen did not blame Murial for ensuring she neglected no duties. Mother did not treat her maid with kindness. She frowned, and a stray drop of moisture tracked down her face from the corner of her eye. Later, when she was alone, she would let tears dampen her pillow.

  Murial readied her for bed, and she took comfort in her maid’s quiet ministrations. But no amount of lavender oil could remove the Kindren king from her thoughts. It seemed he followed her even into her dreams.

  9

  Betrothal

  Elcon took a seat at the polished kaba wood table that dominated the king’s meeting chamber. Kai’s presence beside him leant him strength.

  Euryon rose from his chair and looked out one of the chamber’s tall windows.

  Elcon waited for him to speak.

  “Tell me, Lof Shraen, what brings you to Cobbleford?”

  “I’ve come to clear my name among the Elder. I had nothing to do with the raids by wingabeast riders.”

  Euryon turned back to Elcon with a frown. “I don’t believe you.”

  Kai went still.

  Euryon took a step toward him. “I don’t believe you came all this way on these matters. Why did you not come earlier? Why wait until the raids stopped?” He sat at the table and laid his hands flat on the polished strongwood slab. “Now tell me the truth.”

  Elcon smiled. “You are astute, King Euryon. I did come for another purpose, but also for the one I gave. I did not lie. The wingabeast raids have long troubled me, and I came, in part, to clear my name. I had nothing to do with them. I never discovered just how they came about, but they stopped after Freaer left Torindan. I believe we can assume he instigated them.”

  At mention of Freaer, Euryon’s head came up.

  “The other reason I came to Westerland was to ask you to pledge your loyalty to me as Lof Shraen. I rule as a legitimate son of Rivenn. Freaer, an illegitimate son, holds no real claim to the throne of Rivenn and even less to the title of Lof Shraen.”

  “I see.” Euryon’s eyes grew distant.

  “Freaer has visited you.” Elcon voiced his suspicion out loud.

  “He has. He is quite...convincing.”

  “He possesses a power for deception. His greatest desire is to control all of Elderland.”

  Euryon’s gaze snapped to him.

  Elcon leaned forward in his chair. “We must unite to overcome him.”

  “You ask much of me, as did Freaer. Why should I concern myself with the affairs of the Kindren?”

  “Kindren affairs may soon become your own, whether you will or no.”

  “I can tell you I will not side with Freaer against you.”

  “I’ll content myself with that.”

  Euryon smiled. “Come, I’ll show you around Cobbleford.”

  Elcon overcame his disappointment enough to nod agreement, and with Kai and several of the king’s guards following, he strode with King Euryon through the presence chamber doors and into an outer chamber where kaba wood gleamed. This chamber gave onto a vaulted side corridor that ran the length of the castle. Arches marked each section of the long hallway, and at regular intervals clerestory windows cast the light of day across the scarlet carpet underfoot. Euryon paused before an arched doorway and glanced behind them. “This corridor helps cool the castle in the heat of summer, but in winter, it collects drafts.”

  Elcon laughed, and some of his tension eased. “I can well imagine.”

  “And yet it serves a practical purpose. It is possible to vacate Cobbleford quickly. In times past this was important.”

  Elcon’s nerves twanged back full force. “Of course, you refer to the revolt of Lancert.” A revolt, he did not add, that had been fueled by the Kindren. When they abandoned Pilaer after it fell to garns, they moved westward into lands formerly used by the Elder for hunting. Amberoft, king of Westerland and Euryon’s grandfather, welcomed them but Haldrom, pretender to the throne, called for the Kindren to be removed from Westerland, thus stirring the resentment that gave rise to the revolt.

  “Among other incidents, yes.” Euryon nodded to one of the guards, who opened the door. Outside a cobblestone path cut through a mown sward toward the chapel Elcon remembered from one of the infrequent visits he’d made to Westerland in his early days. Those visits had diminished over time until they became nonexistent, an omission of his mother’s. He didn’t blame her for not continuing relations if they were as strained as this. He was here to right matters, if possible.

  As they walked the path Elcon reveled in the tang of kabas, which carried on a freshening breeze. At the entrance one of the guards pushed open the door, and Euryon turned to Elcon. “I think we’ll find the chapel quiet.”

  Elcon followed, but halted where a scroll nailed beside the door flapped in the wind. Curious, he flattened it, holding it still long enough to read it. Afterwards, he lifted his head in surprise.

  E
uryon smiled. “In your hands you hold my daughter, Aewen’s, banns. She and Prince Raefe will soon unite two kingdoms.”

  ****

  Inydde would have her wingabeast ride, it seemed, even if it meant giving up propriety. Her daughters and the visitors from Darksea waited as she rode before Elcon, her back stiff and unyielding. He kept a hand about her waist with as light a touch as possible. He wanted no misinterpretation of a safety precaution. Feathered wings lifted about them and beat down as Raeld’s muscles bunched and heaved. The wings lifted again and air rushed over them. As they spiraled upward, Inydde let out a scream and grasped Raeld’s mane with both hands, bending so low Elcon feared for her safety. His hand tightened around her waist and he leaned forward to instruct her.

  “Let go of me!”

  Raeld quivered, and Elcon spoke calming words to both the wingabeast and the woman.

  Inydde threw her arms around Raeld’s neck. “I want off! Take me down!” she shrilled near the wingabeast’s ear.

  A shudder went through Raeld, but he held course. Elcon felt immediate sympathy for his wingabeast. He did not want to be in the air with Inydde either. He released his breath between his teeth. He could not bring Raeld down until they leveled out above Cobbleford Castle. To do so before then might mean a disastrous landing.

  Inydde hid her eyes against Raeld’s neck and refused to move even when their flight leveled. The castle shone in the afternoon sun, its baileys small green squares amidst walls of brown and gray stone, the garden behind the chapel marked off in a neat grid. He whistled the command to descend so that Raeld might hear it above Inydde’s piteous wails.

  The landing in Cobbleford’s outer bailey was rough, perhaps hindered by the death grip Inydde maintained on Raeld’s neck. Even now she would not let go, despite the fact all four of the wingabeast’s hooves rested on the ground. Elcon dismounted and reached to help her, but she had gone too far into hysterics to recover easily. Raeld pranced a little, and he issued a sharp command that quieted the beast. He hesitated, not sure what else to do short of wresting Inydde by force from Raeld’s back.