“I promised I’d come back,” said Marcus. Still holding the girl by the hand, he led her to where Zyll and the others waited and introduced them. “This is my grandfather, Zyll, and this is Lael, a girl from my village.”
Zyll took Kaië’s hand briefly, but Lael stiffened in her chair.
“This is Kaië,” Marcus continued, oblivious to Lael’s reaction. “Kaië, you remember Clovis and Bryn.”
“Bryn? But I thought—” She knelt beside the boy and touched his face. “It’s so good to see you, Bryn. I never got the chance to thank you for fighting off those soldiers so Marcus and I could escape. I always hoped you were all right.”
Bryn gave Kaië a hug. “It’s good to see you, too,” he told her.
Kaië said her hellos to Clovis and Zyll.
Marcus turned to Lael. “Kaië is the girl I told you about,” he explained, “the one who helped us during the invasion.”
“Right,” Lael snipped, “the one the tavern keeper said is—”
Her voice cut off abruptly as Clovis kicked her beneath the table. Lael cast an angry look in his direction.
“Oh?” asked Kaië. “And what did that old fool say about me?”
“Nothing,” said Clovis hastily, but Lael ignored him.
“Only that you are marrying Kelvin,” she said, “though why on earth you’d want to do that only the gods know.”
“What?” Marcus wasn’t sure he heard Lael correctly, and if he had . . .
Kaië’s smile failed to mask her embarrassment. To ease the sudden tension in the room, Marcus pulled an extra chair up to the table. “Why don’t you join us, Kaië?” he asked.
“I’d really love to, but I’ve got to serve lunch,” said Kaië, pointing her thumb at the other customers. “I’ll bring you each a plate hot off the stove and a round of cider on the house.”
Kaië gave Marcus a quick hug and then disappeared into the kitchen. Marcus turned on Lael, ready to scold her for being so rude. But she was suddenly in a serious conversation with Bryn about the proper way to fold a napkin.
Thirty-five
What is the matter with you, Lael?” Marcus said sharply. “Why did you say that about Kaië?”
Lael turned to Marcus with a bored looked on her face, which made him even angrier.
“Why not say it?” she said.
“Because,” interjected Clovis, “it’s not true. It can’t be.”
“Kaië didn’t deny it, did she?” asked Lael. “Besides, why should either of you care? She’s too old for you.” She said this directly to Marcus.
“What?” said Marcus, his face growing hot. “Did you think Kaië —? And me? That’s ridiculous!”
But he could feel the heat in his face and knew it was as crimson as Prost’s robes. Lael turned back to Bryn, and the two of them went on talking about table manners.
Marcus wanted to get up and march out of the tavern and right back home to Quendel, where he belonged. Why had he agreed to let Lael come along? But he hadn’t, he reminded himself. She had followed him here. No wonder he had never liked her. She was a pest.
“Now, my boy,” Zyll soothed, “no need to get upset at the poor girl.”
“I’m not upset,” snapped Marcus, annoyed.
“Of course not.”
Zyll clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. Kaië had emerged from the kitchen again and was setting plates of food on a nearby table.
“You failed to tell me everything about Kaië,” said Zyll, just loud enough for Marcus to hear. “She is quite a beauty.”
Marcus watched Kaië move from table to table. She was graceful, like an angel, and she spoke so easily with the customers, as if she had known them all a lifetime. Kaië approached their table and set down platters of roasted vegetables and bowls of piping hot stew.
“Master Peagry is sending me to the bakers for some fresh rolls. Would you like to come along, Marcus?”
“Absolutely!” said Marcus, promptly forgetting about his hungry belly and the food in front of him. Then, remembering the present company, he turned to Zyll. “Do you mind, Grandfather?”
Zyll wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it on the table. “Not at all, my boy. Actually, Xerxes and I have an appointment of our own, don’t we, Xerxes? So why don’t I meet you back at the Fortress this evening? Hmmm? You two go on then.”
“Great,” said Kaië. “I’ll grab my cloak, and we’ll go.”
Kaië gathered up a pile of soiled plates and headed back into the kitchen. As Marcus watched her cross the room, he was annoyed to discover that Lael was directly in his line of sight. Lael, with her blonde braid draped across her shoulder and her dark eyes flashing as she laughed at one of Clovis’s jokes. But Marcus was so focused on Kaië, he failed to notice that Lael’s eyes were fixed on him.
Zyll, his eyebrows raised, said in a voice only Xerxes could hear, “Yes, quite a beauty. Sometimes beauty lies right before our very eyes, and yet we see it not.”
Thirty-six
Marcus waited near the well behind the Seafarer Tavern while Kaië finished up her work inside. The air was getting cold, and Marcus hoped he wouldn’t have to wait too long.
The back door opened and Kaië stepped through, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sorry about that,” she said, crossing the space between them in strong yet graceful steps. “Master Peagry’s demands never end.”
She took both of Marcus’s hands in hers. Then she leaned forward and quickly kissed his cheek. “Shall we go then?” she asked.
They walked hand in hand around the side of the tavern toward a clump of older buildings. When they reached the first, they turned down a wide, cobblestone road lined with shops.
“I’m surprised you still work for him,” said Marcus.
“How else would I pay for my keep?” answered Kaië. “But I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me how you’ve been. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”
Marcus told her as much as he could recall from the time he had left Dokur after the Hestorians were defeated until now. He described his painful attacks, his strange visions, and his narrow escape with Bryn from the grocs’ lair. All the while, Kaië listened intently, often stopping him to ask questions. When he had come to the end he paused, noticing for the first time the warmth of Kaië’s hand in his.
“I wanted to come back here,” he said, “just like I promised I would. You’re happy I came, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m happy,” said Kaië, laughing lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be? We shared a great adventure, you and I, fighting the Hestorians and freeing Bryn from the Fortress prison. We’re bound forever. Here we are.”
They stopped in front of a shop with a wooden sign cut and painted to look like a loaf of bread. Several older women with baskets on their arms waited inside. Kaië walked right past them to the counter.
“Hello, Master Jacob!” she called. “I’m here for the rolls. Are they ready yet?”
A thin man, not much taller than Marcus, popped his head out from behind a brick oven. He had a tuft of black whiskers on the bottom of his chin, and Marcus could not be sure whether it was an intentional style or the baker had missed a spot shaving.
“Afternoon, Mouse,” he said happily. “Aye, they are ready, indeed. I’ll have them out to you in a wink.” And his head disappeared once again.
“Here,” said Kaië, pointing Marcus to a small table in the corner of the shop, “let’s sit down.”
They took the only two chairs in the place, and Marcus was glad to be alone with her. She was just as he remembered and no less beautiful than he had imagined her in his dreams. He had thought of her and of her parting words to him every day since he left Dokur. I’ll think of you often, she had said.
“Why do you stare at me like that, Marcus?”
Marcus looked away. He hadn’t realized he was staring. He decided it was best to change the subject. “Is it true?” he asked, sounding casual.
“Is what true?”
“Tha
t you and Kelvin are to be married.”
Kaië’s laughter took Marcus by surprise. “Do you believe the ramblings of every drunken tavern keeper?” she asked. “No, Marcus, it’s not true. I deliver Jacob’s pastries to the court, and the Peagrys think of any contact with the king as a golden opportunity. Besides, as much as I like your brother and would certainly love being queen, he is too young for me, I’m afraid.”
“Here you are, Mouse,” said the baker, who appeared so suddenly beside them that his presence startled Marcus.
“Thank you, Jacob,” said Kaië, taking the linen bag stuffed with rolls. They left the bakery and started back toward the tavern. The air was growing colder by the moment.
“He’s older than I am,” said Marcus.
“Hmmm?”
“Kelvin,” repeated Marcus. “He’s a year older.”
“And still four years my junior,” answered Kaië.
“What’s wrong with that? In time, that will seem like nothing.”
When they returned to the tavern, Kaië took Marcus by the hand and led him back to the well. It was made of many large, round stones with a wooden support above it.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Marcus. I hope I haven’t offended you.” She pressed her hand on top of his. “You know I’d never hurt you.”
Her face was mere inches from his. If he leaned forward just a little, he could kiss her. He wanted to—more than anything. He wondered if she felt the same.
“I couldn’t marry your brother even if he wanted me,” she continued. “I’ll marry one day, but no man has as yet captured my heart.”
Then it struck him. She did not feel the way he did. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Marcus slipped his hand from beneath Kaië’s. He leaned against the well, both his hands clasped tightly together.
Kaië studied him for a moment. And then her eyes widened in embarrassment. “Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize—” She touched his shoulder but then pulled back her hand. “I didn’t mean to mislead you,” she said. “I do care for you, just . . . not like that.”
“Nonsense,” Marcus interrupted. How could he admit that he had thought he loved her and was disappointed she didn’t love him back? “I care about you, too, Kaië,” he answered, smiling weakly. “You’ve been like a sister to me.”
“Yes, your sister,” replied Kaië, her expression relieved. “When you grew so quiet, I thought—”
“Don’t misunderstand me,” said Marcus. “I feel sorry for Kelvin’s loss. I think you would have made a wonderful queen.”
They both gazed down into the well. The darkness seemed endless, as if it could swallow everything around it. Marcus wished it would swallow him. Even when Kaië kissed him again and said goodbye before going back inside the tavern, Marcus wished he had never come to Dokur, not now, not ever. Despite the fact that he had successfully fulfilled his quest, fought dragons, saved the life of his brother, and faced many other challenges most men never would in a lifetime, he was far too aware that to Kaië, and perhaps to everyone he knew, he was still just a boy.
Thirty-seven
Marcus stood alone on the cliffs of Dokur until the sun had set. The night air was cold and salty. In the distance, the sea roiled in deep shades of undulating green and blue. He watched as a lone gull soared along the coast, then pivoted and flew out to sea. It was peaceful here with the constant lullaby of the breaking waves. If Marcus hadn’t seen the cobblestones stained red and the buildings burning in the moonless black of night, he would not have believed there had ever been a battle here. The Dokurians had almost completely erased every trace of the Hestorian invasion since then.
If only I could erase the war from my memory, thought Marcus, and my body. He placed a hand over his chest where even now, a dull ache reminded him of what had happened here. There had been no hesitation on his part, no second thoughts where Kelvin’s life was concerned. Marcus knew the risk before he laid his hands on Kelvin and had fully expected to die in his place. What he had not counted on was that he would live and bear the burden of Kelvin’s wound the rest of his life.
After Zyll explained this to him, Marcus had made a vow never to use magic again. He’d only made an exception to get them out of the grocs’ cave, but that was the end of it. He did not want to end up old before his time, crippled and in pain. Most people lived perfectly happy lives without magic, and so would he. The aching in his chest would be his reminder to honor that vow.
It was getting late. He and Zyll would be expected back at the Fortress soon, but first he wanted to see the bay from the cliffs, the way he had when he’d visited Dokur before. Marcus walked toward the outlying parts of the city. Some of the buildings here had not been repaired yet. Their black scars were still visible around windows and doors and on the edges of rooftops.
He was about to continue on when a movement in the shadows caught his attention. He stepped behind the wall of the nearest building and glanced into the alley. A single lantern hung beside a door, the sign above it lit by the flickering glow. It read DRAGON’S HEAD INN. This place held more bad memories for Marcus. He had seen a man die here and had fought and killed a Mardok (a man-like beast from Hestoria) to rescue his friends.
The door to the inn opened, and two figures stepped out into the lantern’s light. The first was a man as tall as the door through which he had just passed, his shoulders nearly as broad. His skin was darker than most islanders, which meant he must be from the mainland, from Hestoria. A large tattoo extended down the left side of his face and neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
The second man was unmistakable. His shoulders were slightly stooped, and he leaned on a waist-high walking stick. Zyll held out a small, leather sack. The tattooed man took it, weighing it in his palm. Then Zyll turned away from the light and started walking down the alley toward Marcus.
Marcus ducked behind the building and waited until Zyll emerged from the shadows of the alleyway. He watched until Zyll went inside the Seafarer. Marcus realized then that he had been holding his breath. He let it out and gasped for another. The sea no longer interested him. Instead, his mind was filled with questions.
Thirty-eight
Marcus leaned over the large basin, scouring a metal pot with burned gravy stuck on the bottom. Zyll stood beside him, holding a towel in his hand. Five days had passed since they arrived in Dokur, yet most of their time had been spent in the kitchen. Marcus was beginning to wonder why they had come at all.
“And why am I doing the dishes again?” asked Marcus. He rinsed the pot in a tub of clean water and handed it to Zyll.
“Because hard work develops character,” squawked Xerxes from his spot in the corner.
Marcus scowled at the walking stick. He was beginning to resent his unwelcome comments. He secretly hoped Zyll would follow through with his threat and leave Xerxes alone in his room while they worked.
Zyll wiped the pot dry and set it down on the counter beside him while Marcus attacked another pot.
“So I guess that means,” replied Marcus, “that I am the only one of us who needs to develop character.”
Zyll shook out his towel and draped it over his arm. “My boy, at my age I have all the character I could possibly need.”
Marcus shoved the pot into the water, splashing dirty suds onto his apron. He could not help feeling angry that Zyll had kept secrets from him. Zyll had met with the tattooed man and given him money. Marcus had come close several times to asking Zyll outright what he was up to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. But now, standing here in the kitchen, he had decided to speak. He was just building up his courage when a guard appeared at the kitchen door and handed Marcus a note on stiff paper. Marcus read it quickly.
“What is it?” asked Zyll.
Marcus snatched Zyll’s towel, dried his hands with it, and draped it back over Zyll’s arm. “Looks like you’ll be doing the dishes today,” he said and then added with a grin, “It’s Kelvin. I’ve been summoned.”
* * *
The Great Room was larger than any enclosed space Marcus had ever seen, even larger than Quendel’s entire town center. On the far end, against the outside wall, flames burned in a huge fireplace. Marcus tried to imagine how much wood it took each day to keep that fire stoked. He could feel its heat from the door.
In the center of the room stood a green-velvet settee and two matching chairs. All were edged in gold trim. The room was elegantly decorated in deep, rich hues of burgundy, blue, and gold. Natural light spilled into the room from half a dozen narrow windows that reached to the ceiling. The room was spacious, yet welcoming and comfortable.
Marcus heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall.
“I’m so sorry,” Kelvin said as he entered. “It seems I am always in between meetings.”
“Well, it’s got to be better than working the fields in Quendel,” remarked Marcus with a casual laugh.
“True, though there are times I think I’d prefer that sort of work to this. No one ever told me that ruling a kingdom would be so complicated.”
They took their seats facing the fireplace.
“I’m glad you and Zyll came,” said Kelvin.
“We should have come sooner,” answered Marcus.
“Why did you come?” Kelvin asked, a curious look on his face. “Why now?”
Marcus looked at his brother. He seemed older somehow, as if he had aged years in the past few months. He realized that what he saw was the burden of responsibility, and he wondered not for the first time if Kelvin was really ready to be king.
“We were worried about you,” said Marcus.
“Worried about me? Why?”
“When we heard about what happened to Fredric . . . well, we thought . . .”
Marcus paused to study Kelvin’s expression. He thought of the moment he and Zyll first arrived in Dokur. Kelvin had been surprised to see them, but he had not acted as if anything was unusual and had said nothing about how Fredric died. Even now, Kelvin did not seem afraid or concerned about anything.
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