The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  He falls.

  My world churns; my stomach heaves. I throw the sword on the ground as if it were a snake. Colors blur, and I stagger to the wall.

  Finally, I glance up. Rigel and Dryal both stare at me with surprise and more than a little respect.

  Dryal nods to the discarded weapon. “You’re going to need your blade.”

  I begin to shake my head, but Dryal swipes it off the ground, cleans it on the fallen man’s leg, and pushes the hilt at me. I glance at Rigel, hoping he’ll say I don’t need it. Instead, he nods.

  “Fine.” I take a shaky breath and snatch the sword from Dryal.

  “Warrior Princess,” Dryal says, making light of a situation that will give me nightmares.

  Rigel meets my eyes, his expression enigmatic. “Queen of Errinton.”

  I raise my chin, a thrill running through me at his words.

  Dryal, already jogging down the hall, calls back, “Not if we don’t get her out of here.”

  We follow Dryal. The closer we approach Father’s chambers, the more nervous I become. Surely he won’t be there. He’s likely in his throne room or the great hall. Perhaps he’s called an emergency council meeting.

  We take the last turn, and I prepare myself. The hall is empty. There are no guards, no advisors—no Father. Just as relief washes over me, the chamber doors swing open. Father and Zander stride into the hall, the two deep in a heated discussion. Sensing us, Father looks up. My eyes lock with his icy ones, and my resolve crumbles. His gaze flickers from me to Dryal and Rigel, and his expression goes from cold to livid. He reaches for the sword at his side only to realize his sheath is empty. Zander, also unarmed, watches us with wary eyes.

  Rigel waits. One of his hands is clasped with mine, and the other hovers over his sword. Dryal isn’t as patient; he draws his blade and extends it in a warning.

  Father’s gaze travels to Dryal, and he gives him a tight smile. “I offered her to you—you would have been king. What a fool you are.”

  Dryal shrugs. “You can’t offer what isn’t yours.”

  Father’s hands clench at his sides. He turns his eyes on me. “So this is it? You choose him over your own father?”

  Rigel squeezes my hand, giving me courage. I step forward.

  “You locked me in the tower,” I say as I yank the filthy, torn hem of my gown up so he may see the bloody wound under the metal cuff.

  For the briefest moment, Father winces, but he quickly schools his expression.

  “I’m leaving,” I say.

  “He doesn’t love you,” Father says. “He wants your crown.”

  With those words, Rigel’s control snaps. Before Father realizes the lord’s intent, Rigel’s sword is at his throat. Father eyes the blade, and his mouth opens in surprise.

  Rigel takes another step forward, backing Father to the wall. “I do love her.” He nudges the blade closer. “And I will marry her.”

  “You won’t kill me,” Father hisses, his eyes never leaving the sword. “You hide behind your valiant shield, but in truth, you are a coward.”

  Rigel’s jaw clenches, and he slowly turns the blade. “Are you sure of that?”

  Father gulps.

  “Finish him,” Dryal says, his tone on the edge of bored.

  Despite myself, my heart clenches. Rigel studies the king for several moments, and then he glances at me. I’m not sure what he sees in my face, but the fire in his eyes dims and then fully extinguishes.

  “No,” he says. “Dryal, open the chamber doors.”

  Dryal looks at Rigel as if he’s lost his mind, but he does as he’s asked.

  Rigel motions toward the door with his head. “Zander.”

  The steward gladly steps into the room. Rigel changes the angle of the sword, pushing Father back into the chambers.

  “You really are a fool.” Father nearly spits the words out. He glares at Rigel. “She would have been safe if you’d simply stayed away. Everything she’s been through was because of you.”

  Rigel leans in close. “It is only out of love for Seirsha that I don’t slit your throat tonight.”

  With the words hanging in the air, he slams the door shut.

  Rigel pulls the sword from my trembling fingers and slides the blade through the handles, locking Father and Zander in the chambers.

  It won’t take Father and Zander long to free themselves, but we’ll have slipped from the castle before they accomplish it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the dusk-darkened twilight, I can just make out the copse of trees that Rigel says is our destination for the night. Every muscle and tendon ache. I can’t wait to be off my horse.

  In the great expanse of nothing, a dark-winged figure swoops low. A rodent screams as the owl ascends once again into the night. I peer into the darkness above us. With the Dragon Treaty now void, we’re as vulnerable as that mouse. I shiver and tug Rigel’s cloak tighter around my shoulders.

  Malcolm draws his horse next to mine. “We’re almost there, Your Highness.”

  I only nod.

  No more careless banter, no more easy smiles—As Rigel’s right-hand man, Malcolm is stoic. Dryal glances over his shoulder and frowns. He doesn’t like Malcolm. I’m sure he’d hoped to gain the coveted first position after his hand in Rigel’s rescue. But Rigel doesn’t trust Dryal.

  Not far ahead, Rigel leads our party. He keeps our pace fast, checking frequently to make sure I can keep up. Though I am exhausted, I breathe easier the farther from the castle we travel.

  We reach the trees, and Rigel draws his horse back. I pull my mare to a stop. All I want is to be off this beast, but my muscles scream with every movement. Relieved just to be done for the night, I lean forward and rest my forehead against the mare’s mane. Right now, I don’t even mind that she reeks of horse.

  The men speak in hushed tones. I don’t know why; none think we’ve been followed. I turn my head when Rigel steps up to me. I give him a small smile, hoping to ease away the creases in his brow.

  I let him pull me from my mount and relish the feel of his hands on my waist. He holds me several seconds too long. Our eyes meet, and heat surrounds us. For a moment, I think he might kiss me despite our company. The men’s conversation slowly subsides, and Rigel steps back, creating an acceptable distance between us.

  Dryal clears his throat. “Do we dare start a fire?”

  Rigel glances back the way we came. The storm rumbles in the distance, but all else is calm. I try to hide a shiver, but he sees it. “Yes.”

  The men go about making camp, and I stand to the side, feeling useless. When the throb in my ankle becomes unbearable, I find a fallen log to sit on where I won’t be in the way.

  Supplies are brought out. Dryal and Malcolm bicker over the schedule for the night watch, and a few knights join in the argument. Soon the hushed whispers are forgotten, and our small camp is filled with laughter as the men rejoice in their mission’s success.

  Rigel sits next to me, and the log shifts under his weight. He hands me a strip of dried meat and a skin of lukewarm mead. Though I’ve had very little to eat, I don’t have much of an appetite.

  I set the food on my lap and stare at the space between us.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come back,” I say. The words are just a whisper, but my voice still wavers.

  Rigel moves from my side to kneel in front of me. He takes my hand and turns it over, tracing his fingers softly over my skin, and then he brushes his lips over my palm. I shiver, but it’s not from the cold. I glance over his shoulder. The men are distracted with their meal and conversations. Rigel nods toward the trees. Together, we stand and slip away.

  Finally alone, I’m suddenly very aware of my days in the tower. My hair’s a matted mess. My gown’s caked with dirt.

  Not letting go of Rigel’s hand, I pull him deeper into the trees. A creek runs not far away. Its bubbling call is music to my dry throat. We find it, and I kneel. After I scrub my hands and arms, I cup my palms to scoop up t
he water. I want nothing more than to plunge into it and rid myself of the dirt that clings to me, but it’s far too cold tonight. Resigned, I wash my face and then stand.

  Rigel pauses when I think he will move forward, and when he finally speaks his voice is tight. “I almost had Dryal hanged for leaving you.”

  “Rigel—”

  “I know.”

  I wrap my fingers through his. “You would have died if he hadn’t done what he did.”

  He looks at our hands. “Until I found you, I wished I had. And yet if I had just stayed away…”

  I meet his eyes. “Rigel, what Father said was a lie. Even if you had kept away from me, I wouldn’t have stayed away from you.”

  He watches me for a moment, his gaze uncertain. “We should go back to the others before they miss us.”

  Leaning in, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Or not.”

  Warmth kindles in his eyes, but he glances through the trees. He lets out a sigh of resignation, presses a soft, short kiss to my lips, and then takes my hand and leads me back to camp.

  ***

  The day is just lightening, but the sun is still far below the mountains. I nudge Dryal with my boot. He snores, rolls over, and then pillows his hands under his cheek. This time I nudge harder, giving him a good boot under his ribs. His eyes fly open. Even though he looks like he’s still dreaming, he reaches for his sword.

  “Some protector you are.” I cross my arms. “I could have slit your throat.”

  “Some warrior queen you are—you didn’t.”

  I frown. “You’re supposed to be on guard.”

  Dryal glances around. Black coals sit cold in the fire pit. Splayed around it like spokes, half a dozen men sleep. Rigel, who took the first watch, rests nearby.

  “I don’t know how I fell asleep.” Dryal rubs a kink from his neck. Then, cautiously, he says, “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  I’m not sure what pains him more—the fact that he left me behind or apologizing for it.

  “Rigel needs to be your priority,” I say. “I’m glad you chose to save him.”

  Dryal crosses his arms and slightly tilts his head. “I’m not sure I would do it again.”

  “Because he didn’t choose you to be his right-hand?”

  “Because I wouldn’t have regretted leaving him like I have regretted leaving you. I was your guard, and I failed you.”

  “You could have failed us all by falling asleep tonight.” I mean to say the words lightly, but there’s more bite to them than I intend.

  Dryal winces and then nods to Rigel. “He doesn’t trust me.”

  “He may come to in time.” I study Rigel’s sleeping form. “He was distant with me last night.”

  “He hasn’t forgiven himself for what happened to you.”

  I look back at the knight. “But it was your fault.”

  Dryal gives me a wry smile. “He hasn’t forgiven me either.”

  After I study him for a moment, I say, “I forgive you.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.” The knight wears an earnest expression. “I swear it.”

  I nod to Rigel. “All I ask is that you keep him alive.”

  “I will do everything in my power to ensure you both stay alive.”

  “Swear your allegiance to him alone,” I demand. “Tell me that if it came to it, you would protect him before me.”

  Dryal shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

  I cross my arms. “Why not?”

  “If I allow something to happen to you again, he will wish himself dead. By protecting you, I best serve him.”

  We stare at each other in a stalemate. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. There are plenty of men in this very camp that would lay down their life for Rigel. What difference does one man make?

  “You made the right choice.” I motion to Rigel, and, my voice low with finality, I say, “Do not let him make you doubt that.”

  Dryal nods, knowing there will be no more arguing about it this morning. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  I give the knight one last look and then crouch by Rigel. I hate to wake him after his time on guard last night, but he’s the only one I trust, and the sky is brightening from indigo to blue. I will be out of time soon.

  I touch his shoulder. “Rigel?”

  He rolls toward me, and his lips rise in a sleepy smile.

  “I want to bathe,” I whisper. “But I need someone to guard the creek.”

  Rigel leans on his elbow. Several seconds go by before he finally says, “All right.”

  With the others asleep, we make our way through the woods. Rigel scouts the bank, looking for a spot he deems worthy. As we walk, I try to untangle my hair with my fingers. The knots have twisted with other knots and cemented themselves together with dirt.

  Rigel’s quiet, and I don’t know how to break the silence. He seems pensive, withdrawn. I don’t like it.

  “This will do,” he says.

  The place in the creek he motions to is clear with smooth, round river rocks. It’s not very deep, but it will serve my purposes. He turns before I ask him to, giving me as much privacy as is safe.

  How am I supposed to go about this? I’ve never bathed in a creek before. Perhaps I’ll just wash my hair. With it as unsnarled as I can make it without a comb, I lean over and dip it in the water. I swirl around the ends. How will I get the rest?

  I scoff out loud. This was a terrible idea.

  “If you want to get clean, you’re going to have to get in the water.”

  I glance over my shoulder and smirk. “You’re supposed to be facing the other way.”

  “It didn’t sound as if it were going well.” Behind his slightly brooding expression, there is humor in his gaze.

  My lips twitch, and I circle my finger, motioning him to turn back. He holds up his hands as if surrendering and turns.

  Ignoring his advice, I lie flat on my back at the edge of the creek and then scoot until the water reaches my scalp. It’s frigid. I shiver as I work the water through my hair. A short time in the icy creek is worth being rid of the dirt and grime. I wish I’d thought to ask for soap—not that it was likely any of the men traveled with it anyway.

  I sit up and attempt to wring out my soaking hair. If anything, it’s more tangled than before. I try to wash the grit from my arms and legs, but there’s not much I will be able to do until we arrive at Archer and Pippa’s lands.

  “How’s your ankle?” Rigel asks, still facing away.

  I glance at it. I’ve been saving it for last. Rigel managed to free me of the cuff last night, but the scabbed skin is caked with dirt, and it’s swollen and oozing. I wash it clean as best as I can, but an infection has set in. Hopefully Archer has a good physician on hand.

  “It hurts a little,” I answer. “But I’m all right.”

  I grit my teeth as I scrub water over the wound.

  “Finished?” Rigel asks when I join him.

  I wring out my hair. My fingers catch on tangles as I comb it out enough to separate it into three strands for a simple braid.

  “I’ve never bathed in a creek,” I say. “It’s not as pleasant as I had hoped.”

  Rigel laughs under his breath and twines his fingers through mine. He’s warmer than he has been, but he’s still holding back. My father’s words have affected him. How could he think I would be safe and happy if I’d only chosen Dryal as Father had wished?

  I want to ease his fears, but at the same time, I don’t want to speak of it.

  Camp’s been packed by the time we return, and the men appear to be ready to travel.

  I ignore Malcolm’s teasing smirk when he sees us coming through the trees. I flick my braid over my shoulder and give him a haughty look. He laughs and holds out my mare’s reins. I attempt to march to my horse with dignity, but I end up hobbling due to my ankle. Rigel gives me a questioning look, and I wave his concern away. I’m glad the wound is hidden under the tattered hem of my gown.

  The others find th
eir mounts, and we ride. Rigel leads us with Malcolm at his side, and Dryal hovers between me and them, unsure where he belongs. We don’t stop for the noonday meal. Instead, we again eat dried meat from the packs. I choke some down, a little hungrier today than I was yesterday.

  By late afternoon, I’m exhausted. The sun slowly makes its way toward the western peaks. I hope we stop to make camp soon.

  Rigel has spoken to me twice, both times to see if I’m all right to keep riding. He’s congenial but distant—still troubled.

  Malcolm slows his horse and matches his pace to mine. “Rigel says your ankle is injured. How is it?”

  I glance at him. “It hurts.”

  The truth is that it more than hurts. It throbs with an intensity that makes me dizzy.

  “I have a salve in my pack. I’ll give it to you when we stop for the night.”

  I nod to him. I don’t have it in me to make small talk. He nods and returns to his position.

  My stomach growls, and I’m just wondering if we will have something other than dried meat for the evening meal when a knight yells out, “Dragon!”

  With a start, I whip around in my saddle to eye the sky behind us. I suck in a gasp when I see her, a sapphire jewel in the clouds.

  “No!” I yell when several men draw their bows. “She’s a friend.”

  “Stand down,” Rigel calls, though he too is at the ready.

  Adrinel circles in the sky, quickly descending, and makes a graceful landing that seems impossible for a creature her size. I leap from my horse and run to her as quickly as my ankle will allow. From the corner of my eye, I see Rigel abandon his mount as well.

  Ignoring Rigel’s insistent warning to get back, I throw myself at the dragon and demand, “Where have you been?”

  Tears prick my eyes, and I sniff them back as I bury my face in her velvet-scaled side.

  “I’ve been busy, mouse. Very, very busy.” Adrinel envelopes me in her wing for just a moment before she none-too-gently nudges me back. Her green eyes narrow as she takes stock of me. “You’re injured.”

  She turns her murderous gaze to Rigel and his men.

  The horses sense the dragon’s sudden shift in temper, and they dance nervously under their equally uneasy riders. Adrinel’s gaze finds Rigel, the closest target.