The Realms Beyond (The Reinhold Chronicles Book 2)

by Bo Burnette

She exhaled. “You’re confusing me. I can’t fathom why you want to explore that unopenable waterfall vault when we now know that there are greater treasures on the Isle. Really, Philip. And just after the incident in Cladach, you come galloping after me dressed up like our most dangerous—and most mysterious—enemy.”

  “That was entirely unintentional.”

  “I’m sure.” She held his gaze for a long while before speaking again. “Philip, I don’t want to fight like this. I want to be friends just like we’ve been for the past year. Can we not be that?”

  Philip dropped his gaze. “You mean, go on forever just the same way that we always have? Never changing, never getting any worse, but never getting any better?”

  Her heart slowed as he looked back up at her.

  He sighed. “Time changes many things. Some things decay with time, but some things grow. And some will do whichever you let them. But nothing stays the same.”

  “So you don’t want things to stay the same, then?” Arliss couldn’t prevent the catch in her throat.

  “No,” Philip whispered. “How could I?”

  Her face flickered between glaring and weeping, and she shifted at Kirras’s reins, aiming her towards Cladach.

  She did not speak another word to Philip for the rest of the ride.

  The swordplay and caber tossing had long finished by the time Arliss reined Kirras inside the city gates. She dismounted as Laoch clambered in behind her. She unwound the satchel strap from the pommel of the saddle. With a half-glance at Philip, she bit her lip and tossed the reins to one of the gate guards before walking down the street.

  Philip slid off his mount and walked after her, but she kept going, ignoring him entirely. At this moment, she had better things to focus on. She cinched her satchel tighter around her chest to prevent it from flapping at her side.

  She found her father exiting the empty arena, a worried frown stretched across his face. His grimace melted the moment he saw her. “Arliss! So you’re back.”

  “You sent your errand-boy after me, I see.”

  Kenton’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Is that how you think of him?”

  “That’s how I think of being chased up and down the plains of Reinhold.”

  “Chased?”

  “I mistook his costume for that of the burgundy assassin. But at least Kirras got some good exercise.” Arliss paused, soaking in the wild chill in the air. The sun would sink past the cliffs in a couple of hours. “Why did you send him after me?”

  He covered the distance between them slowly, his hand reaching for her face. He brushed aside the golden hair on her cheek. “Because I wanted to spend as much time with my daughter before she leaves me.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand on her cheek—such a strong hand, and yet so gentle. She leaned into his touch, placing her hand on his outstretched arm. Despite their disagreements, she still felt such a deep love for him. Despite his secrets.

  Her mind drifted to the book and the page in the satchel which hung at her side.

  He let his hand fall from her face.

  She opened her eyes, managing a smile. “I will miss you. But when I return, I will bring our history back with me. You will be proud of me.”

  “I am already proud of you.” Kenton smiled before he walked away.

  Arliss strode towards the cliffs—those majestic rocks which stretched out for nearly a mile on either side. When she reached the very edge and looked down at the beach far below her, she saw Lord Brédan and his men bustling around the skeleton of a ship.

  A tingle of excitement shot up her spine.

  Chapter Eleven: The Parting Glass

  ARLISS CLAMPED HER THIGHS AROUND KIRRAS’S SADDLE, LEANING low over her horse’s mane. She was riding harder than she ever had, the wind whipping her hair like a banner behind her, the rumble of hooves pitching her up and down like a boat on the ocean.

  She’d spent the night at the castle, searching for every map of the Isle she could get her hands on. This morning, she’d gotten lost in the crinkled pages. She’d forgotten time and place.

  She’d forgotten that the Games ended today.

  Philip’s final swordfight. She had promised him she would make it back in time. And if he won, she’d promised herself she would treat him to drinks at The Golden Gull. If anything, it might melt his coldness toward her quest and show him she really cared. Because she did.

  And now—bloody fool that she was—she’d never make it in time.

  Cladach’s east gate rose in the distance. Open wide. The orange birth of a sunset beamed through from the opposite side of the city. The streets already milled with people.

  She reined Kirras around the city toward the arena, but she knew she was too late. Pointless hope rose in her chest. She pulled Kirras to a halt and swung out of the saddle.

  She rushed through the flap of flags that hung around the royal box. Her heart thrummed. If only…somehow…

  She parted the heavy broadcloth and stood, staring around the arena.

  Empty.

  The sunset fell thick over the cliffside arena. Her breathing settled into an angry rhythm—furious at herself, at Philip for how she knew he would take this. But could she really blame him?

  Footsteps pattered behind her.

  She turned as Philip emerged from under the royal box like an actor from behind curtains. He froze, eyes narrowing. “Evening.” He strode past her.

  “Philip,” she hurried after him, “I—I’m sorry. I—”

  He kept going as if she wasn’t there. “I just forgot my sword with all the celebrating and whatnot. Celebrating that I won the final competition. Not that you would know about that.”

  “Philip…”

  He leaned and drew his sword from the dust, belted it around his waist. “There.” He started for the box again.

  She halted in the middle of the arena and filled her lungs. “Philip!”

  He glanced at her, eyes flicking. “What?”

  “I’m glad you won.” She bit her lip. “I really am sorry. I tried.”

  “Did you?”

  She couldn’t respond.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Ilayda, Brallaghan, and Erik are waiting at the tavern.” He bowed with an overdone flourish and stalked out of the arena.

  Arliss was left squinting in the burning sunset.

  The weeks passed quickly, but for Arliss it seemed to last an eternity. Every other day she would ride to Cladach to check on the ship’s progress. Every time, it seemed slightly different—a touch larger, or thicker—but never different enough. She felt it would never be finished.

  To pass the time, she and Erik pored over old maps of the Isle of Light. They spent hours rolling out the yellowed sheets on the table in the castle library, memorizing the terrain and landmarks. How much would be changed since the volcano’s eruption?

  Ilayda split her time between Cladach—where her family had now moved to accommodate Adam’s duties as governor—and the royal city. She would pop in and take a peek, leaving them with, “Silly princess…silly Erik.” Sometimes she would drag Brallaghan in as well, and he would take a bit more interest, but he too would leave to arrange weapons or clothes or whatnot for the voyage. Philip came least often. When he did, he never spoke to Arliss but simply brought them tea or victuals.

  Elowyn was Arliss’s favorite visitor during this time. Each time she came in, she held a more complete version of Arliss’s new outfit for the trip. Leather breeches and a many-slitted skirt—it would be a touch more practical than what Arliss had worn on other adventures. She couldn’t wait to try it on.

  Finally there came a day, at the very end of November, when all was ready. The outfit was complete. The weapons were sharpened and strung. The stores were packed into the ship, which bobbed gently on the waves, awaiting its maiden voyage.

  The city of Cladach seemed to be drowning with lights as the royal carriage pulled through its gates. Arliss dismounted the carriage steps, then twirl
ed as she tried to take in the beauty of the city’s nighttime decoration. And to think that it was all for her! The sheer love of her people washed over her heart like a storm. She clenched her eyes shut.

  When she opened them again, Philip had exited the carriage. “Our feast awaits.” He offered her a hand gloved in starchy white. Since when had he started wearing gloves? Even the king rarely did that.

  “Must we walk hand in hand?” she sighed, still mesmerized by the maze of lights which hung from every building. “I’d rather walk slowly. I want to see every bit of this lovely city.”

  He bit his lip, looking almost hurt. “I will walk slowly, if that is what you wish.”

  She smiled and accepted his hand. His eyes remained penetratingly sad.

  The blaze of candles and torches cast flapping shadows across the banners that lined the road to the great hall. Guards stood in the shadows along the thoroughfare, ready to douse any fires that might flare up. The road was otherwise empty of travelers.

  Arliss realized they would be the last to arrive, and thus everyone would be staring at her as Philip escorted her in.

  Her face flushed. That certainly would give everyone the wrong idea—the idea that they had made peace with each other. Despite her best efforts, word had trickled out that their relationship was strained and even fractured. The last thing she wanted was to give her people a false image.

  But perhaps—for her father—perhaps it would be best? This, her last night in Reinhold, already wore at his heart more than it should. An extra effort to be kind to Philip wouldn’t hurt, at least not this evening.

  She entered the great hall with her hand still in his. The light flared even brighter inside the hall. The concentrated beams reflected off the tall windows and made her blink. She followed as Philip led her to the place of honor at the near table. Her head swam slightly as she took it all in: people, tables, food, dresses, colors, light.

  Kenton offered a prayer of thanks, then the feasting began and the hall erupted with the clamor of eating. Arliss finally looked down the long table that stretched away from her to the other side of the room.

  Silver flagons of wine stood at careful intervals, bracketing trays of hearty delicacies. A platter of chicken, adorned with herbs and mushrooms and fruits, led to a long tray lined with dozens of fish stuffed with wild cherries. Beyond that, a bowl overflowed with green bean pods, and beyond that, a cluster of thick, buttery bread loaves.

  She exhaled. The only things missing were olives. Those had been among the few pleasant things of her imprisonment at Thane’s old haunt.

  For some time, the flavors of the food burst and mingled in Arliss’s mouth. She paused often, trying to laugh and make conversation with the others at the table, but a sickening feeling stewed in the bottom of her stomach. It grew to the point where she could no longer enjoy the meal.

  Like all good dinners, the feast had to come to an end. The service staff cleared the dishes away and refilled everyone’s goblets. Clearing his throat, Kenton pushed from his seat at the table.

  “This is Princess Arliss’s last evening in Reinhold for some time. Perhaps she would like to say a few words.” He sat back in his chair.

  Nodding, Arliss stood and looked around the huge room. Then, she took from her pocket a Bible with crinkled leather binding. She found her place easily, and she lifted the book up as she spoke.

  “Give ear, O my people, to my teaching; incline your ears to the words of my mouth! I will open my mouth in a parable; I will utter dark sayings from of old, things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us.” She caught Kenton’s eye. “We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the Lord, and his might, and the wonders that he has done.”

  A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.

  She continued. “I am leaving you now. Not for thirteen years have we left this land—this wonderful land of Reinhold. But I have to go. I must recover the treasures of our past. Some of you are coming with me, and I am thankful for that.”

  She glimpsed Philip’s sideways grin.

  “And to those of you who are not: look to my return. I will bring the past with me.”

  She sighed, breath weighing her lungs down. The past. It had taken so many things from her. An uncle, intrigued by history and adventure—now gone forever. A world across the endless seas, from which Reinhold had fled—also vanished into myth.

  She should be filled with joy, shouldn’t she? She wanted this. But somehow her longings felt suddenly hollow. The past was dead. And the present was full of dangers. Thane. The burgundy spy.

  She hesitated, not speaking for several moments.

  The hall grew uneasy.

  With a deep breath, she opened her mouth. And she began to sing. The song was old, passed down for decades, even centuries. Some said it had come with the clans long ago, even before they had settled these realms. She had always found the song rather sad, yet cheering all the same.

  “Of every moment that e’er I had

  I spent it in good company

  And every sword that e’er I’ve drawn

  I stood beside my comrades free

  And every arrow on my bow

  Went to defend this homeland tall

  So fill to me the parting glass

  Good-night, and joy be to you all.”

  She moved to the center of the room as she continued to sing.

  “Of all the comrades that e’er I had

  They’re sorry for my going away

  And all the family that e’er I had

  They’d wish me one more day to stay.

  But since it falls into my lot

  That I should rise and you should not

  I’ll gently rise and softly call,

  ‘Good-night, and joy be to you all!’”

  Kenton gripped his goblet, and whether everyone else saw him or simply felt it was right, they all raised their goblets as well. Their love stunned her once again, but she kept singing.

  “Since God ordained that I should leave

  Please weep not for my going away

  I know the Lord will care for me

  No matter if I go or stay

  So fill to me the parting glass

  And drink a health whate’er befalls

  Then gently rise and softly call,

  ‘Good-night, and joy be to you all!’”

  Everyone raised their glasses and toasted Arliss, and she choked back tears as she whispered the last stanza.

  “But since it falls into my lot

  That I should rise and you should not

  I’ll gently rise and softly call,

  ‘Good-night, and joy be to you all!’”

  Chapter Twelve: Farewell to Reinhold

  ILAYDA HURRIED THROUGH THE CITY, SLIPPING BETWEEN THE crowded mass of citizens as quickly as she could. It seemed everyone in the land had packed into the long thoroughfare, and the city felt like it was going to burst. Ilayda shrugged through two heedless girls slightly younger than herself. The street had turned to mud beneath her feet from a rainshower in the night. But, of course, it was always wet. Why didn’t the king go on and lay down cobblestones for a proper street? She pulled up the soft purple of her skirts, careful not to let them drag in the mud.

  If the ship had already cast off…

  But of course it wouldn’t have. That was an absurd thought to think. Despite her stubborn nature—or because of it, rather—Arliss was loyal to a fault. She wouldn’t leave behind her best friend. Nonetheless, Ilayda still stumbled on, nearly tripping over the children and baskets that cluttered the main street. She finally emerged from the crowd as the cliffs and ocean unfolded before her.

  Dozens of guards and others flowed up and down the steep dropoff to the beach. At the base of the hill, several yards off from shore, the ship drifted gently back and forth about its anchor. She truly was beautiful. Not terribly big, of course, but Ilayda didn’t have much to go on excep
t a few drawings in some books she’d read.

  She tugged her skirts up off her feet again and ran straight towards the line of people trudging up and down the grassy incline.

  She saw Erik hardly a moment before she was upon him, and they almost collided.

  “Watch where you’re going, perhaps?” Erik chuckled.

  “I’m too excited to do that.” Ilayda dropped her skirts. “Where are you going? Oughtn’t you be on the ship?”

  “Of course I should.” Erik narrowed his eyes. “I was sent to fetch you.”

  “I don’t need fetching, thanks.”

  Just then, Brallaghan came rushing up the hill towards them. He jerked to a halt and gulped air, his hands on his thighs.

  Ilayda’s lips pursed. “What do you want, good sir? Shouldn’t you be on the boat?”

  “It’s a ship, not a boat,” Erik put in.

  Brallaghan smirked and answered Ilayda. “Probably so. But they sent me to get you two lollygaggers.”

  Erik folded his arms. “I was sent to get her in the first place.”

  “You weren’t fast enough for their liking. Come on, now, all!” He took Ilayda’s arm and started down the hill towards the sea, humming an old sea shanty.

  Ilayda pivoted her torso slightly, trying to release the tension in her back. This day was shaping up to be the most exciting in her life thus far.

  Arliss stood at the fringe of the beach, her feet almost in the water, as the supplies and suppliers streamed up and down the hill. Barrels of fresh water—good. A crate of salted pork—good. Sharp swords and fresh arrows—excellent. The crew had all boarded the ship, almost. She couldn’t make out Erik, Ilayda, or Brallaghan in the crowd. As for the captain…

  She looked out at the magnificent craft which reigned out on the waves. Lord Brédan stood at the helm, and he nodded at her. She smiled back and studied the intricate carvings which circled the edges of the ship. A wide platform like a castle tower’s crenelation decked either end of the ship—creating what Lord Brédan called the poop deck in the back and the forecastle (he called it “fo’c’s’le”) in the front. And it was a castle indeed—a castle for a sailor. As for Brédan, Arliss had never seen his grey eyes more alive.