Joselyn nodded. “He is up against that nameless knight… but can you believe he has come so far? Surely, you must have performed one of your special miracles on him.”
Heart soaring, Wynn shook her head. He had made it… but up against the nameless knight? That knight had been the one participant she’d questioned even she could best. Still, this was Phillip. He had astounded everyone, including her.
The sisters pulled her up the steps to the platform where the gentry were seated.
“Wait… what am I doing here?” she questioned uneasily. “I can’t be here.”
“Technically, you can,” Joselyn said. “You are the prophet of Kierelia.”
“And even so,” Meg began, “we could never have got you before those throngs of people and Phillip must see you.”
Wynn looked out to find Phillip already in the arena. It was clear he was terrified, his face pale, hands shaking. When Meg called to him, he instantly turned to the platform. With a beaming grin, he waved to Wynn, anxiety transforming to poise… possibly even a trace of cockiness. It astonished her that her presence was capable of this effect. Overjoyed, she waved back and took her seat among the nobles. None who saw her shabby clothing looked to her as if she did not belong. This could only mean she truly was meant to have enjoyed the tournament from the platform. Well, she had preferred her place with Terrance, among the people in any case. But now, she was grateful to be afforded such a view when it mattered most.
Lord Valdren greeted her eagerly, calling out from his own seat. It was then the others looked her over, attempting to gauge why he esteemed her so. She was uncertain herself as she responded with a meek smile. Either he was even kinder than she had already deduced… or he was rooting for Phillip as well. Likely, both. After all, no one knew who this nameless knight was and Phillip was the son of his friend… as well as a likable fellow in his own right.
Phillip and the unknown knight met in the center of the field. Once they had begun, it was as if every swing of the sword worked to tip the scales of destiny in its wielder’s favor, so true did they aim. It was only by the skill of each that every blow did not mean death to one or the other. Even King Curiel sat on the very edge of his seat, the fingers of one hand digging into his knee. Initially, there was much cheering for one or the other, but as it was shown how very close was the proficiency of each, the entire field grew silent, as if they no longer knew for whom to root.
In all actuality, the two were so very well matched, the encounter began to appear as a lively dance. Though both were well armored so neither of their faces showed, one might have imagined a large grin upon each face. Body language conveyed how they reveled in the stimulating confrontation. Their revelry ceased, however, as time passed. While one might have supposed they were utterly drained by this juncture, each was fueled by adrenalin and determination—both desiring to put an end to it.
Wynn’s fingernails dug into her palms as she sat forward in her chair, stomach swirling with anxiety, expectation. She was utterly bewildered by the similarity in their fighting. In fact, they both battled in an approach eerily similar to hers. It made sense Phillip should do so, but this stranger?
Across the field and among the bystanders, a creature of Paradise worked to gain her attention. Receiving it at last, the entity pointed to a petite young woman in a bird’s egg blue gown who clutched her hands so tightly, they were as pale as her face. With a blink, a vision of the girl in maid’s attire, waiting upon Phillip’s family in their manor house presented itself to Wynn. In the next moment, the woman was standing in the crowd again. She looked to the nameless knight, a look in her eyes that made clear she was well acquainted with the contender—was, in fact, quite in love with him. But Wynn wondered why the maid in the vision was now dressed so elegantly.
It hit her.
The nameless knight toppled to the ground, his weapon flung far from his hands. He had lost. Phillip had won. The crowd roared, chanting his name. Wynn was overjoyed… but her heart clenched. She wished to race out to her dear friend but was unable to move. How would he take it?
Reaching a hand to his opponent, Phillip pulled him to his feet. It was then the unnamed knight removed his helmet, looking to none but the victor with a look of uncertainty... an apology. Seeing them together, the resemblance was glaring. They were large, taller than most, both very handsome with an heir of decency.
Phillip stood frozen as the chanting continued. But in the next instant, he reached to embrace his brother. Certainly, most in the crowd had no idea what transpired, but they did not seem to care. Phillip’s name continued to be wrung. It was clear Brodrick was surprised by his younger brother’s response to his sudden appearance, but he did not know Phillip—at least not the way Wynn did.
Joselyn and Meg screamed their brothers’ names with tears of joy. Wynn absently wondered where Elizabeth had been, then had a faint memory of her sitting with her parents at the other end of the dais. With a smile, she imagined what the three must be thinking but would not spare a moment to witness their reaction. She refused to peel her eyes from Phillip, attempting to decipher what he might be thinking. Was he truly all right?
* * *
Wynn sat staring out a window at Sir Colten’s manor. The room was filled with people celebrating the outcome of the Champion’s Tournament, celebrating Phillip, the Champion of the Southern Region. The family professed it was no surprise he had won. They had two gifted sons, after all. Even so, it was clear with the return of their eldest, the cherished one, Phillip was once more overshadowed in their eyes. It made no sense to her. Phillip had bested his brother, the one they’d so favored. Yet, the younger was once again an afterthought.
Brodrick reveled in the attention. Even those outside the family favored him. He was charismatic and charming, not humble and meek like Phillip. But she found Phillip’s ability and willingness to become second-rate far more admirable. He gladly stood aside as all celebrated his brother’s return. It was clear how he’d grown up forgotten in the shadow of his estimable brother. Certainly, she knew there must be something in him that disliked the situation, but he was too overjoyed to have Brodrick returned.
True, there were those who yet rejoiced over Phillip’s achievement. And for him to have gone from useless to extraordinary in the span of a tournament was a feat of itself. His true friends glowed with pride for him. Even his new sister-in-law, Bella, took personal joy in his victory now she had met him, even though her own husband had lost. And though Wynn disliked Brodrick, she could not help being fond of his wife. The woman was even accepted by the family. After all, it had been discovered she was a distant descendant of the royal family of Bashtii and, in so being, had inherited a fortune. It was with that fortune they had lived within that kingdom during the disappearance. In that time, she had become acquainted with her homeland as well as the family members she’d not known she possessed.
As it happened, Brodrick had no real excuse for not having returned sooner. It seemed he’d merely been distracted with their new life across the sea, had become consumed in that new world with his new wife. When word had reached of a peculiar tournament being held in the south of Kierelia very near where his home lay, he at last had a mind to return, to compete and to surprise all he’d left behind with his sudden reappearance.
“Do you always keep so much to yourself?” a male voice inquired as he sat beside her.
She startled, then cringed upon realizing it was the very man she’d been thinking of. True, she had no personal reason to detest him. After all, Phillip himself adored him and would wish her to feel the same. But she simply could not respect a person who had abandoned his entire family for so long without due cause. His departure had sorely affected Phillip’s life. It had only begun to be put right when this brother had swooped in to somehow garner all the glory for himself. It made her skin crawl.
“Not necessarily,” she replied. Truth was, she loathed being in that house with that family, but she had been invited along
for Phillip’s sake and for his sake she would remain.
“Well… I can only suppose you must be very proud of Phillip,” he said in a friendly, tentative tone, “now he is Champion of the Southern Region.”
“I was more than proud enough before,” she said.
“I do not doubt that. I’d known since he was a boy what a success he would make, but it was his openness of spirit and feeling heart that always delighted me. Noting the thoughts and feelings of others and understanding them does not always come easily to me.”
She squirmed. “Oh, but you have so much more going for you,” she replied resentfully.
“That I do.”
She snorted.
“I am fortunate the family does not appear to hold my absence against me,” he continued. “It is more than I could have hoped.”
“Assuredly,” she replied with the private roll of her eyes. She could not help herself. He too cheerfully accepted his old place back, including the demotion of Phillip. He may have a tongue swift to compliment, but actions spoke louder than words.
Even so, she could not help recalling the way he had fought. Why was it so very similar to hers? Though it pained her, she heard herself ask, “By whom were you trained?”
“Oh, many instructors, but the one from whom I learned the most was Sir Reginald of Castlehaven, a knight of King Curiel’s personal battalion.”
That was it. She had been taught by the same master of the blade.
This realization must have been clear, for he said, “So you are the one he spoke of.”
She turned to him, working to keep the interest from her face.
"Once he’d completed my training,” he began, “he sent me off with the assurance I could best every opponent I met but one fiery, little redhead he would never forget. Of course, he had not considered that girl might become a trainer herself."
She smirked joylessly. She would not be drawn in.
"He is the most gifted swordsman in all the land, so they say. And he's only trained but two people… That's you and I."
She raised her brows. So, the knight had made an exception for her… poor little wretch though she had been. Well, she thought kindlier of him and was honored by the realization of what a gift he had given her. Perhaps, one day, she might call upon him to offer him thanks. But she let none of this show on her face, reveling in the awkward silence that followed.
“Look…” he said at last, “Phillip has told me much about you. I mean a lot… and I’ve only been back but half a day. I mention this to say… I understand your intelligence.”
How generous.
He leaned in close to whisper, “You and I both know this is wrong: me garnering all the favor for myself in what ought to be his hour of glory.”
She turned to him in dubious confusion.
“Yes… you see it as I do,” he continued. “And you recognize that I allow it to transpire. I understand how that must appear.”
She raised her brows. “Just what are you getting at?”
“I know very well what my parent’s expectations can do to a person. I grew up with it all my life until I left. That being the case, I knew nothing else. I could handle it. And, yes, I suppose I very often gloried in it. I like winning people’s approval.
“But… Phillip’s not like that. This isn’t what he wants. He does not wish to be heir of my parents’ fortune, made to enter tournaments he’s no interest in to garner honor for the family name… Do you see what I’m trying to say?”
She hesitated, crinkling her brows together.
“The thing is…” He searched for words. “I’m back… for good. It was not my intention when we returned. I like my life in Bashtii. But I can also thrive here. And if Phillip is no longer expected to be the golden child, to fill my shoes and be ‘worthy’ of the heir’s inheritance, he will once more be overlooked… and free to be whoever he chooses. Life in this house… is not what he chooses.”
“And you know that from the space of a day, do you?”
He shook his head. “I garnered it from watching you all during the tournament. The moment I recognized him that first day, I realized I no longer knew my brother. I had missed the remainder of his childhood… and I lamented it. Therefore, I observed him… I watched him with my parents, with the gentry, with all the fine ladies set before him… And I watched you.” With a teasing smirk, he continued, “I’d wager I know precisely what he wants. And I’ve the power to see he has the freedom to win it… if he has not already done so.”
Her brows drew together as she worked to understand what he suggested. Coming upon it, she felt herself blushing more deeply than ever she had in her life. “I… I think you are mistaken…” she replied with the shake of her head.
But his grin only grew larger as he stood to his feet. Looking beyond her, he called, “Terrance! We have much to catch up on, my friend!”
The dwarf scoffed just as he had been since the moment he’d discovered Brodrick’s return. “Friends don’t keep away for a decade and expect to be welcomed back so warmly by those who knew him best.”
Brodrick raised his brows at Wynn. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve another gem to win over. You think about what I’ve said. I have a feeling we would make fine friends if you could get over my, shall we say… magnetism.”
She scoffed and turned in search of Phillip, who grinned at her from across the room. She knew he inquired what she thought of Brodrick. He wanted her to like him. With a nod, she found herself smiling. The elder brother had claimed he did not have Phillip’s gift for reading people, yet he had read her quite thoroughly. Well, he was still an insufferable attention hog… but it was more than apparent how much he cared for Phillip. That was something she could not dislike him for.
A new form sat beside her on the bench. Turning to find yet another sibling of the household she did not much care for, she began to feel like a sitting duck.
“Come with me,” Elizabeth murmured. She started toward the library.
Wynn sat a moment. She knew she ought not to follow… but curiosity pulled at her. What if—hard as it would be to believe—this was a cry for help? Perhaps the girl wished to change her ways. She stood, shuffled her feet a moment… then started that way.
But upon entering the library, she discovered what a naïve decision she’d made. Not only did Elizabeth sit back in a chair, glass of wine in one hand and a nasty smirk on her face, but Arcadias and Deviant appeared before her, throwing the door soundly shut.
She had a decision to make: cry for help from those who likely had little capacity to aid her or boldly confront what was before her? It was a moment before she threw on a carefree candor and asked, "Where is the beguiling Maera? Is she too timid to appear before me?"
But the three merely laughed. Elizabeth said, “Maera,” and the elder sorceress appeared, though utterly surprised by the summons if her irriation revealed anything.
"I was in the middle of a very important conversion with a possible convert,” she said. “Really, I'll never get my eyes back at this rate."
Wynn had to admit she'd like it if the woman had eyes.
Maera looked about the room, pausing when her eyes fell upon the redhead. "You brought me to her?”
“Why ever not, Maera, dear?” Deviant asked, though the single raised brow revealed he knew all.
The sorceress pressed her lips together as she searched Wynn. The woman was truly apprehensive to stand before her, but why? For the first time since Wynn had known her, she seemed not to know what to do about the situation at hand.
“Wynnifred of that blasted prophet's wood, join us now,” she demanded like a mother chastising her child. “The thirteenth throne is ready, it is expectant and it is useless to persist this show of denial when it knows you are meant for us. You, my dear...” Here she paused, considering her next words. “…will lead us.”
Wynn watched the daemon sprites lined across her shoulders, clasped over her back and speaking from within her throat. It w
as admittedly frightening—not merely because of what they were, but for what they wanted. Her. Maera knew it too. As badly as the circle needed Wynn to complete their number, Maera feared she would lose these sprites, likely the source of her power.
The sorceress stepped backward ever so slightly. Wynn was obliged.
“Oh, Maera, you know what must be done,” Arcadias scolded. “You must relinquish some of them or we won't have our thirteenth. Without her, the circle is not truly complete and we are vulnerable.”
“Do we really think we ought to be revealing such details to her?” Elizabeth asked with haughty arms crossed.
“Discretion is futile at this point,” Arcadias answered. “We need her in order to become all we are meant.” The enchantress stepped forward, sending a trail of glitter into the atmosphere with her movement. “Wynnifred, I ought to have come to you myself to begin with, but now I see you are nothing but repelled. Therefore, we must take matters into our own hands. Deviant, grab her. Maera, stay right where you are.”
Before Wynn could react, she was seized, not by his hand but by his spell. His eyes held hers—sparkling, welcoming.
“Maera, go to her,” Arcadias directed. “They will know what to do.”
“You can't do this!” Wynn shouted, fear and rage growing the longer she worked to free herself without success.
But Maera did as instructed, taking a few steps toward her. Immediately, the daemons flew to the tips of her outstretched fingers, hungry for this fresh vessel.
Wynn was horrified, but she was also incensed. “You cannot do this!” she roared. “I do not receive them!”
Maera hesitated.
“What is it now?” Deviant cried with irritation. “Go on, witch!”
“I... cannot,” Maera murmured. “Her words... the verbal rejection—it keeps me from continuing.”
Wynn raised a brow. “Neither do I receive this spell!”
She was released. Immediately, she withdrew her sword. The moment it was unleashed, it began to glow, searing through the room, or so she assumed when she heard cries and hisses around her. When the light decimated, she was alone.
The Prophet's Apprentice (Chronicles of the Chosen) Page 35