The table looked upon her with utterly split expressions. The younger end was enchanted, with the exception of Elizabeth. Their parents, however, appeared terribly bewildered until at last Sir Colten began to chuckle.
“Very good, lass, very good!” he said. “But truly, I wonder what kind of journey your parents mapped out for you and if it had any influence on your current role as prophet.”
“I am afraid my parents did not send me at all,” she replied easily. “I was orphaned and had nowhere to go.”
The couple appeared greatly concerned by this, though concerned for her, she did not believe.
“But did not your father make certain provisions were made for you upon his death?” Sir Colten queried.
She shook her head.
“But… certainly something, some country manor or other, had been left you.”
She shook her head once more. It was against her wishes to give them what they wanted, for though no longer ashamed of her past, she sensed her answer would irreversibly alter her welcome.
“Oh, Father,” Elizabeth spoke in a chastising tone. “Can you not see she does not wish to disgrace this table?” She turned to Wynn with a pitying expression, concealing what Wynn knew to be vengeful mirth. Somehow, some way, the sorceress had plotted this. Perhaps she had put the question into their minds or perhaps she had cursed the situation in some way. Either way, Wynn had no idea how the girl could know anything about her past.
“Poor little Wynn was raised by parents who provided not but a rat-infested shack in which to live, were unemployed and penniless until their little girl grew old enough to hire herself out for work,” Elizbeth explained. “Then, of course, they relied upon her to deliver their evening ration of ale to see them through. Eventually, the pair died of it. So, you see, the dear girl is to be pitied… not so much admired.”
Wynn could not peel her eyes from her plate. Stomach turning, she knew what would come. It was not as if she so desperately required their acceptance, but to have Phillip’s parents utterly reject her to her face was not an occasion she longed to endure. Her mind raced for how Elizabeth could have learned such details. She must assume the sorceress had used dark arts to learn her background. Perhaps the duo of daemon-sprites whom she and the prophet had driven from Jaefra had sought revenge. They may very well have called upon the SCSS of their own accord.
A hand under the table reached for hers—Phillip. With that show of support, she worked up the courage to peer up from her plate. Looking first to him, she found a warm smile there, eyes glittering. But from his parents, she was met with horrified consternation. The pinch between poor Lady Colten’s brows could not have been tighter. And how astonishing to witness Sir Colten’s austere brow rise so very high.
“But… surely you had an uncle, a cousin or someone of admirable standing…?” Sir Colten probed, grasping for something to mend the situation of this girl in his home.
Wynn shook her head and stole a moment to gather herself. After all, she knew who she was. She was a chosen vessel of the Great One. “To my knowledge… my family have always been quite destitute.”
“But… how came you to be the next prophet?” Lady Colten asked, her voice rising an octave, revealing how stricken she was. After all, she had been working to arrange an engagement between her and their heir. “Do they merely pull you people from the ditches?”
“Mother,” Phillip gasped with a blend of censure and disbelief.
“Well, I am sorry, dear, but if we are to look up to these people, ought not they to come from good families in fine standing?”
He stood to his feet, pulling a stupefied Wynn up with him.
“No matter who her family was,” he said, “certainly you have witnessed what an estimable person she is. She was selected by the Great One, after all. Surely, he understands her worth better than anyone else.”
“Well… the old prophet was getting on in years,” Sir Colten said thoughtfully. “They say he was beginning to dwindle. It is very likely he got a few things wrong in the end.”
Phillip physically recoiled. So insulted on Wynn’s behalf was he, she hardly felt need to be offended herself. Though he had endured such treatment from his family for years, it was apparently too much to find them so callous toward her.
“We’re leaving, Wynn,” he stated, starting for the door with her in tow. Before exiting, he turned back once more. “A person should be esteemed for the kindness and compassion in their heart, for their spirit and courage… not because of their standing in this confused, tumultuous world!” Stealing a few calming breaths, he continued quietly with, “Nor for who their parents were. I, for one, am more ashamed of my own than I ever dreamed I could be.”
With that, he led her through the manor and out of the house, soundly slamming the door behind him. “I am so sorry, Wynnie… I never dreamed they would treat you that way. They were so enraptured with you; I never thought to question why. Of course, they would not have been so appalled had they not been taking such effort to see us wed.”
“I had not realized you’d noticed,” she said with a smirk. “But, for heavens, why should I care for the good opinion of people who have looked down on you so? Clearly, they’ve no taste. And truly, it is of no consequence how they see me… so long as I am never bidden to dine here again, of course.”
Slowly, his strained expression gave way to a small smile. “Well… that has been proven more than obvious tonight, has it not?”
“What?”
“Their lack of taste.”
“Oh.”
“But I do not understand why Elizabeth should have presented your life story like that. It was as if she knew precisely what she was doing. And it was dreadfully dishonorable of her to reveal what you’d shared in confidence.”
“I never told her.”
“Then how—”
She gasped at the searing heat about her neck. Yanking off the beads, the sensation moved to her hands before she flung them to the ground.
“Are you all right?” Phillip cried, looking to the ring of singed flesh around her neck. “How in the world—? Isn’t that the necklace Elizabeth gave you?”
With a nod, she stared down at the gems, appearing perfectly innocent as they glared back up at her. Now, she understood why they’d been gifted her. Elizabeth had intended to spy on her comings and goings... not that it had done any good until that moment. More grateful than ever was Wynn that she had not worn them before this evening. By some enchantment, Elizabeth had heard them, had burned her through the necklace to keep her from revealing what she knew
“Wynn…” he began hesitantly, “does my sister have something against you? I mean, I know it sounds silly, but—”
“I must be… allergic,” she snapped, knowing Elizabeth yet listened. “I… should be going. It’s getting late.”
“Allergic? But I saw them glow…”
She shrugged. “Probably a trick of the light.”
He did not appear entirely convinced but sensed she would speak no more about it. “Well… I’ll see you home,” he replied. “I cannot bear the thought of returning here tonight. I think I’ll stay at Terrance’s.”
She nodded, well understanding his feelings considering she did not intend ever to set foot in that great house again.
Crouching low, he reached for the gems.
“Leave them!” she nearly shrieked.
“But… don’t you at least wish to sell them?”
“Let Elizabeth find them in the morning. I’m sure they’re far more precious to her than to me.”
- T W E N T Y – S I X -
Tournament of Champions
WHEN AT LAST THE long-awaited Champion’s Tournament was to take place, the green grassy field before Valdren Castle became a mess of tents. Some very large and fine, others hardly more than a raggedy coverlet and sticks. There had been weeks of this moving into the field before the appointed day had finally arrived. On this day, the ground was overwhelmed with people: th
ose competing, those who’d come to be with the competitors and those who were merely there to spectate and enjoy the festivities. There were various vendors providing spiced sausages, warm potatoes, steaming roasted meats, sweet pies, rolls and cakes. Others brought trinkets and jewelry, while still others provided flags and ribbons to wave and wear to show support for particular contenders.
All this surrounded a large section of the field that was sectioned off by long wooden polls adorned with brightly colored ribbon. Other than these few, scarce poles placed every few feet, the border was really made up of the people who crowded around three sides. The final side was comprised of a platform where Lord and Lady Valdren were seated along with a few nobles—some competing, others there to observe.
Wynn and Phillip took all this in as they made their way through the mess of vendors and tents, each making plans to return for the fragrantly roasting sausages and sweet breads. Appearing before the table to which Phillip was to report his attendance, she watched him hesitate.
“Don’t tell me you’re doubting yourself.”
He shook his head. “I was just thinking how unfair the stipulations for entry are. Is it not foolish that I should compete when the woman who trained me is at least twice the swordsman I’ll ever be?”
“Little do you know, she’s dearly looking forward to watching your progression in this tournament, so if you don’t hurry up and put your name down, she’ll make you.”
He raised a brow. “Very well then.”
Some hours later, he stood in the center of the arena. Wynn had no way of knowing what he might be feeling, but her own heart pounded. Why had she not tried him against other swordsmen in their training? He was accustomed only to her methods. Then again, she should be grateful this was not a tournament for all weapons. The blade was a prized and glorified weapon in the kingdom of Kierelia and had been since its beginnings. Therefore, most every tournament was built around it, if not the only weapon tested. As it was, this was the only one he knew how to use and it must serve him well.
With the blast of a trumpet, the match commenced. Phillip moved more swiftly than even in their training, driven by nerves and adrenaline. Slow down, she urged, anxious he might trip over his feet. But in the next moment, the crowd was cheering and she did a double take. His contender was on the ground, swordless. Had he truly prevailed so swiftly?
He turned to the crowd, searching for someone. When his eyes found hers, he grinned and released a relieved breath. She waved proudly, full of elation and looking to the stand in search of his parents. She was not disappointed. Sir Colten’s mouth hung agape.
It had been but Phillip’s first round, yet he’d won with ease. His opponent had not been very skilled, but Phillip had already proved himself a true contender and not one to be overlooked.
* * *
Days later, Phillip found himself the talk of the tournament. His parents had spread the news far and wide of how their fine son had been holding out on them all these years and mastered the blade in secret. This was not the case, of course; they knew he’d been training with Wynn of late. They’d simply not expected it to do any good.
Yes, he was doing well. In fact, he had made a name for himself… and he could scarcely believe it. He’d entered this tournament with but one goal: not to shame his family. Of course, by the time the competition had commenced, he had come to care very little how he made them look. They had already disgraced him the evening they’d criticized his dearest friend.
From his first round, he had surprised his family, himself and even Wynn, or so she had claimed. In fact, when he’d realized his opponent had fallen weaponless before him, he’d lauded the Great One for that moment of precious luck. With such heightened nerves, he scarcely recalled the ordeal. But with every man he defeated since, he recalled more and his nerves lessened. He’d discovered he… was capable. More than that, if he dared admit it, he was gifted.
For years, he’d been considered a vast disappointment in comparison to his elder brother, considered incapable of replacing him in any way. Now, he was looked to as if he was him… or very nearly. He did not possess Brodrick’s poise and charisma. Still, it was rewarding to be considered useless no longer.
Every bit of credit went to Wynn, of course. He would never have become the swordsman he was so astonished to find himself if not for her patience. He now compared himself to the man he’d been when first they’d met and could scarcely believe how different he felt. He was yet bashful with unfamiliar ladies, but he felt stronger and more attune with himself.
The way young ladies now behaved with him did not hurt matters. If he did not hide himself away in his private tent, he was most always surrounded by a gaggle of them. But though it boosted his self-esteem, it was utterly discomfiting. Moreover, it kept him from having the utter freedom to converse with whom he truly wished: Wynn, Meg and Terrance. Even so, the three appeared entertained by the spectacle of him attempting not to stumble over his tongue when among admirers. Very often, the three were found snickering among themselves from afar. It was at those moments he wished himself hidden away with them so he could feel himself again—to be comfortable and inconsequential. Therefore, he would excuse himself to whomever he was with and speedily make his way to them. They would then purchase a banquet of delicacies sold by the merchants and hide away in his tent.
Nevertheless, it was not unusual for the remainder of his family to drop in and spoil the fun. Worse still, his mother often brought young ladies along, hoping to garner his interest in one of them. But it did little good. Try as he might to be polite, they did not appeal to him. His interest was in… his friends.
Terrance mentioned something one day which made him dreadfully uneasy. The dwarf had inquired whether his feelings had wandered from the pretty prophet to one of the finer lot now vying for him. Phillip was not only affronted by the question but mortified and more than grateful Wynn had not been about.
It was the very next day when his mother was introducing him to another set of ladies that he overheard Terrance teasing Wynn along the same lime. Was she not terribly jealous of all the attention Phillip had garnered now she’d transformed him into an estimable swan? Her face blushed to match her hair, but she denied any idea of what he inferred. And, to Phillip’s astonishment, she insisted Phillip had always been the man he currently was. He merely knew how to walk and use a weapon now.
“Do not ye worry, lass,” Terrance replied with a smirk. “If push comes to shove and you lose him, you can always have me when you’re older.”
That, of course, was the very reason Wynn often complained about the dwarf. He could not help teasing her, nor would he cease feigning to woo her. Then again, none of them was ever certain if he was not a little serious about his offers of marriage. But it mattered little, for she would never have him. Even so, Phillip was startled to find himself suddenly infuriated by the jesting. Though the small man had altered much of late and had at last abandoned most of his flirtatious inclinations, Phillip loathed the very idea of him ever succeeding with her. If she was to be with anyone, it must be one who had the ability to appreciate her qualities. Terrance had never been rightly appreciative of anything. But, though Wynn was Phillip’s friend, he had no rightful say in the matter if anything ever came of it. He had but to hope she would remain as wise as ever.
As far as the tournament went, most wagered it would be down to Phillip and the nameless knight—the one who refused to reveal his identity. There were other names in the hat, of course, but it seemed Wynn’s training had unlocked talent in Phillip no one had ever dreamed. Wynn inquired what he would do with himself should he win, but the thought was entirely far-fetched. There were a great many gifted, far more experienced competitors and he was glad of it. Having witnessed the talent of the nameless knight, the thought of facing him was not pleasant. The mysterious stranger would have him off his feet before he’d raised his blade and the holiday from his family’s ridicule would conclude. Thankfully, the likelih
ood of this confrontation was diminutive.
* * *
When Wynn had aided Phillip in connecting with his inner warrior, she’d unlocked more than she could have dreamed. All the training he’d ever received had finally connected. It was like watching one of the old prophet’s miracles unfold.
After a number of triumphs, his family found themselves eating their words… to her utter satisfaction. Sir Colten, especially, was suddenly heard boasting of his exceptional son, with the girth of a bull and swiftness of a fox. Yet, whenever Phillip was with his family, she observed not a feeling of acceptance upon his face, but disbelief. It was apparent they’d never at any moment treated him so—excluding Meg, of course. Meg had the great pride of pronouncing she had always known he was capable of greatness, despite the beliefs of all others.
Wynn watched on in pride as Phillip became one of the most esteemed participants. But his being followed about by throngs of women was an unexpected turn. She could not help feeling irritated when all she wanted was a few private words with her friend and he was so often busy entertaining others. Nevertheless, watching him blush and bumble out meek, unconsciously charming remarks was something of an amusement. Besides, there Wynn was in tunic and trousers, hair in an unkempt knot at the nape of her neck. Yet, every time Phillip found her nearing him, relief crossed his face.
At long last, the contestants had been reduced to the very best of the best. The testing and battling from that point was arduous. Yet, the number of tents on the field did not diminish. Rather, they increased. For this tournament had become one of the most stimulating and intriguing competitions of recent years. In fact, it was so often spoken of across the whole of the kingdom that in the final week, King Curiel himself arrived to witness the outcome.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 33