The dragons have been keeping watch on them, updating us on their progress. A part of me wishes the beasts would attack so we may be done with it. At the same time, my heart aches for the man I had always hoped Father would be. Once he is gone, the hope will be lost.
“They are on the other side of the valley,” Rigel answers.
The cold knot coils tighter in my stomach. I look up and meet Rigel’s eyes. “Tomorrow.”
He slowly nods. “Tomorrow.”
“Will he attack in the night?”
Rigel runs a comforting hand over my arm. “We do not believe—”
There is a commotion from the courtyard. My eyes dart to the door and into the black beyond the torchlight. Outside, the men’s attention has shifted. The sound of iron meeting cobblestones rings through the air as a horse enters through the main gates.
Dryal strides forward and stops the rider. Rigel too makes his way toward the courtyard, and I follow. Dryal looks over and addresses Rigel, “He is unarmed. Bowen has sent a message.”
The rider dismounts and extends his hand toward Rigel. He makes no gesture of respect but stands as if he were animated stone.
Rigel accepts the message, breaks the seal, and then steps closer to a torch. “Wait here,” he says to the messenger once he’s read the letter. He motions to Malcolm and Dryal to follow him back into the armory.
“What does he want?” Dryal demands.
Rigel glances at me. “He wants to speak with us tomorrow just after sunrise.”
“Absolutely not,” Dryal says. “You can’t take Seirsha to him. You’d be delivering her right into his hands!”
Rigel’s face goes hard. “I have no intention of bringing my wife onto the battlefield.”
The words hang in the air, quietly making their point.
I touch Rigel’s arm. “What does he want to see us for?”
Rigel scans the message again. “He doesn’t say.”
“Perhaps, now that he is close, he has seen how very outnumbered he is?”
“It’s possible.” His expression contradicts his words. He doesn’t believe Father will surrender his crown that easily.
So what is it he has planned?
Teagan steps forward. “Rigel, I’m sure you already know this, but you can’t trust Bowen to be unarmed for this meeting.”
Rigel nods. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“I’ll go,” I say.
The men’s eyes slide to me, surprised.
“If he wanted me dead, he would have already killed me.”
Rigel rubs his temple as if a headache is setting in. “Seirsha, I know he’s—”
I step closer to him, making him look at me. “Yes, he’s my father. If this is my one chance to save him, please, let me take it.”
He watches me for several moments and then exhales a slow breath. “We’re all tired. Let’s speak of it more in the morning.”
“There’s little left to attend to here,” Malcolm says. “You should get some rest.”
I murmur several goodbyes, but my mind is on the meeting. I know I can’t let Rigel walk into it alone, and I know I can’t make Father surrender. But if I’m there, perhaps he won’t turn on Rigel.
Once we’re in our chambers, I sit on the bed, exhausted. Rigel sits next to me. He says nothing, but his fingers wrap around mine. We stay like this for several moments, each of us trapped in our own thoughts.
“I want to let you go,” he finally says. “But I don’t trust him.”
“Please.” I turn to him. “I don’t think he has it in him to hurt me. He wanted to the day you escaped—he was consumed with fury. But he couldn’t.”
Rigel rests his forehead against mine. “We have the advantage, Seirsha. We don’t need to agree to this meeting. We’ve already won.”
“But you will because it’s the honorable thing to do. I know you. You’ll do it.”
I wait, hoping he’ll tell me he won’t—swear to me he won’t. But he stays silent.
He draws me closer and kisses my brow. “By this time tomorrow, this dark cloud will be gone. It will be over.”
“I want to believe that. I really do.”
“Our lives have been filled with death and sadness and disappointment, but believe me, it’s going to end. I swear to you. The rest of your life will be filled with joy.”
I touch my cheek, surprised to find it damp. “I am yours, Rigel. There is no greater earthly happiness than that.”
He kisses me softly. There’s no urgency, no rush. Simply us. When the candles have burned low, I finally fall asleep in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dryal narrows his eyes at me. “This is a bad idea.”
Rigel looks like he agrees, and I shoot Dryal a sharp look. “You don’t get a say in the matter.”
The knight scowls and slides his sword in its sheath with more force than necessary. I try to ignore him and instead focus on adjusting the strange armor I wear. It’s fitted and slim, forged of dragon steel. Rigel said if I found a set small enough, he would take me to Father. He didn’t seem pleased when Pippa produced one. It was probably meant for a tall youth, but it will do.
Pippa attaches a cloak, not only to set me apart as one of noble birth, but also to shield me from the storm that has settled around us.
The clouds sleep low in the valley this morning, and they obscure Father’s army. Though storms are frequent in Errinton, something about the weather feels ominous, as if a great darkness is biding its time, dozing until the moment is right.
Pippa stands back, admiring her work. The princess seems more at ease than I’ve seen her in months. Like many of the men, she’s eager to fight. She wears light leather armor, which is easy to move in. Somehow the princess makes it looks elegant. Her hair is braided into a crown on her head, out of the way and secure.
“You will be fine,” she assures me.
“I know.”
Not one for overly emotional displays, she gives my arm a pat and then excuses herself to find Archer.
Rigel nods the rest of the group away. Once they’ve left, he sets his hands on my shoulders and leans down to look me square in the eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I do.”
“And you say I’m stubborn.”
I brush his jaw with my fingers. He didn’t shave this morning, and the stubble makes him look more dangerous than usual. Like me, he’s donned armor. He wears a cloak of his own, and a simple circlet sits atop his head, quietly proclaiming his right to the throne.
“You are so handsome,” I breathe.
Rigel catches my hand. “Don’t.”
I twine my fingers in his. “Don’t what?”
“Speak in a tone that says this is our end.”
“Do you feel it?” I ask. “There’s a strange quality to the air.”
I glance out the armory doors. The building is quiet; the excitement has moved to the courtyard. The mist moves over the stones.
“Stay here,” he says instead of answering my question.
I shake my head. Somehow I know if I send him alone, he won’t return.
A bell tolls the slow, steady thrum of the hour. We meet Father at the next bell.
“It’s time,” I say.
Rigel sets his hands on my cheeks, and his charcoal eyes plead with me. “Please, Seirsha, stay here.”
I rise on my toes, close the distance between us, and brush a soft kiss on his lips. He sets his forehead against mine.
“It will be fine.”
He opens his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. “You are breathtaking, you know.”
I glance at my armor and then give him a doubtful look.
He runs his hand down my braid. “You are a Queen of Errinton, strong and beautiful, fire and ice.
“Mostly ice.”
“Mostly fire.”
Perhaps it’s knowing these may be our last moments together, or maybe it’s the tension of the impending battle, but something snaps in me. I yan
k Rigel’s shoulders to me and press my lips to his. He kisses me back. It’s an urgent, desperate goodbye.
No matter what meets us, I will treasure this moment. I lock away every sensation—the way he smells of torch-fire and cedar and lavender soap, the faraway din of the men moving about in the courtyard, the wet chill seeping in the armory despite the burning fires.
I’ll remember it all, but mostly I’ll remember Rigel. Even if we live seventy more years, and our grandchildren have children, I will remember this moment, this turning point in our lives.
I’m not sure who breaks the kiss first, but it ends as abruptly as it began. Wordlessly, Rigel offers me his hand. I take it, and together we go to meet Father and his army.
***
Argus is just as charming as always. His eyes rake over me in a slow appraisal that makes me wish to cower behind Rigel. Instead, I lift my chin in the air and grace him with my practiced look of disdain.
Argus flicks his head toward Adrinel. “She may not enter.”
“Adrinel represents the dragons.” Rigel crosses his arms. “She has as much right as any.”
Adrinel watches with cold, reptilian eyes.
Argus sneers. “It was agreed there would be no weapons. That would include dragons.”
As Rigel and Argus argue, I scan the valley. The uneasy feeling grows. It’s hard to see Father’s men past the mist, but the first line stands not far from the meeting spot Rigel and Father agreed upon. I glance behind us, needing to assure myself that our men are not far away. They too stand, watching, waiting. Malcolm’s at the front, ready to give the signal if needed.
As I turn back to Argus, I catch Dryal’s eyes. He gives me a small, slow nod. A silent promise. Whether he’s promising to protect me or Rigel, I don’t know. As always, it’s difficult to tell just where his loyalties lie.
The thought chills me. Though I know Father does not hold Dryal’s allegiance, we would be in a very vulnerable position should he prove to be a traitor.
Goosebumps rise on my arms. It’s the chill in the air. Only the storm.
Argus continues, “If the dragon enters, then the king will be armed as well.”
“Did you hear that, Rigel?” Dryal says from behind us. “Argus says you can take your sword.”
Rigel shoots Dryal a warning look, but the knight is too busy exchanging scowls with Argus to notice.
“Adrinel, do you trust me to represent you?” Rigel asks the dragon.
“No,” she says immediately, but then she turns her eyes to me. “But I will accept Seirsha as our ambassador.”
I inhale a sharp breath through my nose, startled by the note of pride in her voice.
“Very well,” Rigel says finally, though I can tell he’s uneasy with the dragon’s withdrawal. I’m sure he wouldn’t have agreed to my attendance if he’d known she wouldn’t be permitted.
Leaving Adrinel behind, we follow Argus. Though I’ve been careful to keep my eyes averted, I can feel Father’s gaze. Despite the chill, my hands sweat in their gloves.
Finally, with the distance closed, I look up. Father’s ice-blue eyes are not on me. They are trained on Rigel. The look he wears is disconcerting to say the least. He’s slightly crazed; a small smile tips his lips.
My heart hammers in my chest, and suddenly it’s as if the mist has fingers to choke me. I fight for even breaths. Father mustn’t know I fear him.
The armies wait, both sides just far enough away a rogue arrow would fall short. Rovert and Zander stand behind Father, and Argus stands at his side. With Dryal, there are only three of us. Though it’s only by one, I feel outnumbered.
Finally, Father’s eyes flick to me. “Hello, Seirsha.”
“Father.”
“I hear you are calling yourself a queen now. Don’t you find that a bit premature?”
I stand straighter. “You have called yourself a king for many years, and yet the throne was never yours. Now is not the time to quibble over titles.”
He smiles, and his eyes light with that flash of pride that has always made me feel tainted.
“We are here,” Rigel says, obviously in no mood for Father’s games. “What do you wish to discuss?”
Father holds his hands out, palms up. “Your surrender, of course.”
I blink at him, wondering if this bluff of power is part of his strategy.
Rigel crosses his arms. “And why would I do that? My army vastly outnumbers yours, and for the first time in history, a true alliance has been made with the dragons. They will fight with us.”
In the distance, the tower bell chimes, announcing the half-hour.
Father smiles and graces Rigel with a grandfatherly look of benevolence. “Your armies will fall. The dragons will fight, but they will die.”
I study Father as he speaks. The last few weeks have not been kind to him. His face is deeply lined; his hair is more white than gray.
Magic, I realize with a start. He’s bartered for more magic.
The mist coils at my feet, eager.
I step forward. “What are the terms if we choose to surrender?”
I’ve startled not only Rigel but Father as well. Rigel whips toward me, stunned.
“Will you spare him?” I ask.
Rigel is livid. “Seirsha—”
“I have nothing to lose,” Father says. “I have no terms.”
“You have me.” I step forward. “Should you kill him, you will lose me. Any love for you that I harbor in my heart will die with his last breath.” Doubt flickers in his eyes, and I take another step. “I am the only reason you stand before us now. If it weren't for me, Rigel would have already killed you.”
“And what makes you think I care for your love?”
“You do love me, even if you don’t want to. Just as I love you—even though you’ve certainly given me no reason and more often than not, I wish I didn’t.”
For once, Father is speechless.
“This meeting is over.” Rigel pulls me back with a firm hand and pushes me behind him as he squares off to Father. “If you are foolish enough to think you can come out victorious, then so be it.”
Father ignores Rigel, and he looks past him at me. “You want my terms? You will return with me, and in exchange I will spare his life—though I promise neither he nor you will thank me.”
Rigel hands me off to Dryal. “Get her to safety.”
Dryal pulls me away, and I struggle against him. “Rigel, wait—”
Father smiles at Rigel. “Go with her, say your goodbyes. I will attack by the next bell if you do not accept.”
We turn and leave Father and his men. The strange mist seems to wrap around our ankles, attempting to hold us back.
As soon as we’re through the gates, Rigel yells to the rest of the men to prepare to march. Ignoring a hundred questions, he pulls me into the armory and slams the door. “What was that?”
I’ve never seen Rigel like this. He’s livid; he’s beyond livid.
I meet him, matching his temper with my own. “He has magic, Rigel. Magic. Didn’t you see him? He’s aged another ten years!”
A shadow crosses Rigel’s face. “No, the sculpture…it was empty.”
“Not the sculpture.” I rip my gloves off and send them flying into the corner, needing to take out my fear and anger on something. “The wizard. He must be here.”
“You can’t know that.”
I step up to him. “I know when Father’s bluffing, and I know when he’s not. You must believe me. I swear on my life, he’s not.”
Rigel rubs his hand over his face, a helpless move that sets cold fear in my heart.
“We have no choice,” he says. “We must fight—there is no other option.”
I pull his hand away from his face so he’ll look at me. “I can’t lose you.”
He grasps my hands hard. “Don’t you understand? We have no future if he wins. This blackness will suffocate all of Errinton, and eventually it will leach into the lower kingdoms.”
&nb
sp; “Please,” I beg, but I don’t even know what I’m asking.
He’s right.
There’s frantic beating at the door, and Malcolm hollers from the other side. Rigel is needed. It’s time.
Rigel steps back, ready. He stares at me for a moment as if he’s struggling for words of comfort. There are none. He kisses me, gives me one last silent look, and then walks through the door.
Malcolm hands Rigel his stallion’s reins. The animal is ready for war, its soft hide encased in armor. I watch Rigel mount and canter from the courtyard to join his men.
With a hand clasped over my mouth in a desperate attempt to hold in the panic, I slowly sink to the cobblestones.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I’m ripped from my grieving when a hand yanks on my arm, pulling me up. Pippa stares at me. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, and her eyes are wide with concern.
“What’s happened?” she demands.
“Magic,” I whisper, letting the pain consume me. “Father’s traded more of his life.”
I begin to sink again to the ground. I know in my heart Rigel won’t return this time. Let me die here.
I’m startled back by a sharp sting of pain. I hold my cheek in surprise and blink at Pippa. She slapped me.
“This is not the time to wallow.” She stands tall despite her height. “If we are to fall today, we will not go without a fight.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
Without a word, she strides into the armory, scans the wall for half a second, and then shoves a sword into my hands. “Let’s hope you don’t need it. Come with me.”
I follow her up to the battlements. Archer stands with his men, but he’s obviously been waiting for Pippa to return. Relief washes over his face, but his expression hardens again when Pippa tells him what I’ve learned.
The princess takes her place at his side. Without the slightest hesitation, she pulls her bow from her back and nocks an arrow. Like the others, she doesn’t yet draw, but she waits, her eyes trained on the mist below us.
It’s impossible to see, and it’s quiet. The only sounds come from the breeze rustling through the trees and an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. Then, like a flame doused, the storm goes still. There is perfect, complete silence.
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 71