Memory of War

by Michelle Lynn

  Marissa turned to leave the woman to her peace, but the queen raised her face.

  “You can stay.” She dried her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  A sad smile tilted her lips. “I am queen. Even my mourning is not private. Sit, please. I think I would like the company.”

  As soon as Marissa lowered herself, warmth surrounded her. The land in the garden thrived with magic. Her connection to the earth was so strong, she couldn’t have stopped the flow of it into her heart if she tried. She closed her eyes, soaking in the stillness of the connection.

  “You have the tenelach.” The queen’s soft voice broke through.

  Marissa nodded.

  The queen sniffled. “My husband told me of those who possessed the deeper connection. I’d never met one myself.”

  Marissa stayed quiet as the queen studied her.

  “You’re the prisoner from Dreach-Dhoun.”

  “I thought I was a prisoner, but the prince has forgotten to treat me as such.”

  “Marcus is too kind for his own good. His brother thinks his trusting nature is going to get him killed one day.” She tilted her head. “I hear you were quite the warrior for the enemy. Are you here to hurt my boys?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here. I couldn’t stay in Calis’ army. My father told me I’d be safe in Dreach-Sciene, but I’m not sure he meant for me to come to the palace.”

  “Ah, yes. My son did tell me you’re the daughter of Ramsey Kane. It’s the reason you were allowed to accompany him. Ramsey is a bastard, forgive my language.”

  Marissa shrugged.

  “But my husband trusted him.”

  “I’m sorry about … the king.” Marissa lowered her eyes.

  The queen’s face fell. “He was the best hope for this war.”

  “Marcus will continue to fight.”

  She shook her head. “I love my son, but I can’t help but wonder if everything we’ve fought for will disappear. Marcus is a good boy. Kind. Smart. My beautiful boy. But he is not ready to be king. The softness has not been beaten out of him by life. His brother would have been a better choice.” She got to her feet. “His brother would not be so trusting of enemy soldiers.

  Marissa sat back in shock as she walked away. The queen considered her an enemy soldier. They all probably did. Worst of all, she didn’t want Marcus to be king. In Dreach-Dhoun, disparaging Calis would result in punishment, even for his mother.

  She leaned her head back against the tree. When her eyes lifted, they caught sight of the man in question. Marcus stood frozen not ten paces away. His mother hadn’t seen him, but Marissa couldn’t shift her eyes away.

  She pushed a hand through her curls and took in his pale face and crumpled tunic. His handsome features were drawn with weariness.

  “If you’re looking for your mother, she went inside.”

  He finally moved, stepping closer. His jaw clenched. “I saw.”

  He didn’t need to say it, but she knew he’d heard every word.

  He walked across the grass to stand looking down on her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  His brow scrunched. “For what?”

  “I don’t know. It just felt like I should apologize for something.”

  A laugh burst from his mouth and he clapped a hand across his lips to cover it up. “I shouldn’t be laughing on the day we bury my father.”

  “Sometimes I think those are the days when laughter is most important.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Has there been a lot of laughter in your life?”

  She focused her eyes on the ground and didn’t answer him. “I need to know why I’m here. Why you brought me back with you after I’ve given you every scrap of information I possess.”

  He sat beside her and pursed his lips. “I had a feeling.”

  “A feeling?”

  “That you’d be useful.”

  She nodded. It made sense, even if it wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. She’d secretly hoped he thought she’d be a great addition to the fight. That he’d see her as a soldier, a person, rather than a pawn. But she was used to being used.

  And she knew why he wanted to use her. “You’re hoping my father switches sides.”

  He scowled. “He’s Tri-Gard. He shouldn’t be on a side.”

  “But you want him on yours.”

  “Of course. I know the kinds of damage Calis could inflict if he gets his hands on all three of them.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” she mumbled. “But he’ll never find Lonara.”

  “I don’t have as much faith as you.”

  “It isn’t faith. I know where she is.” As soon as she spoke the words, she wanted to take them back. She’d never betray Lonara, even to her new allies. She shook her head. “No. That is one piece of information I won’t give. If Calis knew I had it, he’d have put me to the rack. Will you do the same?”

  Disgust flickered across his face. “I don’t believe in torture.”

  She relaxed back against the tree.

  “My mother doesn’t think I can win this war.”

  “Can you?” she asked plainly.

  “Yes.”

  “I believe you.”

  Surprise registered in his eyes.

  She placed her palms on the ground at her sides. “The earth has a long memory.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s true. Every battle. Every bit of magic taken. Each drop of blood that soaks into the soil. All of it. There is a memory to war. It’s ingrained into the very ground we walk on. Never forgotten. I feel it when the earth shakes and groans as more of its people are slain and the wars are repeated time after time. We never learn. But it does. Do you really believe the earth, after all these battles, is a passive participant? That it gives us our power and lets us do as we will?”

  “I –” She cut him off.

  “You did. Because man’s memory is short while the earth’s is long. Do you ever wonder why some people’s magic is stronger than others? Why you can throw fireballs all day and some of your soldiers can barely even keep a shield up for an hour?”

  He shook his head.

  “I think the earth chose you to win this war. Despite what your mother says, only you can do it. As long as there is power in the earth, you can do anything. It wants this over just as much as you .”

  Marcus was quiet for a moment. His perceptive eyes scanned her face, searching. “Marissa …”

  He looked so lost, it tugged at her heart. Leaning forward, she gave his hand a squeeze. “We must go prepare for the ceremony.”

  He swallowed hard and tugged at his dark hair, his eyes clouding for a moment. “Yes. Today we prepare to bury my father. Tomorrow we prepare to win the war.”

  Chapter 5

  The ceremony was more understated than the typical funeral for a king. When the war was over, Marcus would prepare a grand send-off for his father.

  Today, it was only the household. They were on the hillside past the gates. Black-clad servants stood on one side of the pyre while the royal family stood on the other.

  As darkness descended, the flames extended into the sky, lighting up the night.

  A priest stood, face bathed in light. “Tonight we return one of our best to the earth. He fell in battle, a hero to his people. Let the flames wash away his sins and his heroic deeds open the grounds.”

  Marcus didn’t hear anything else the priest said as he wrapped an arm around his mother. Even as her words from earlier rang in his mind, he needed her. Drake stood, stoic as ever, no emotion softening his hard features.

  A tear slid down Marcus’ cheek, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. His father had been the one person to believe in him. He hadn’t been blind to his mother’s view over the years that Marcus should be passed over in the line of succession. His father would have had the power to do that. The first-born didn’t have to rule. But the king had seen the kindness and joy as the reasons Marcus w
ould be a good leader rather than Drake’s steadfast adherence to rules and discipline.

  If the earth has a memory of war, they’d scarred it beyond imagination.

  Marcus’ chest tightened and he struggled to breathe. Maybe his father was the lucky one. His eternity had begun and he’d spend it wrapped in the power of the earth. The rest of them had more battles to come.

  As the ceremony came to a close, people trickled back into the palace. Drake led their weeping mother away, but Marcus couldn’t bear to go when the flames were still roaring with life. He slapped at a bug that landed on his arm and turned his face to the waning fire.

  Two guards stayed behind to watch over him, but they kept their distance. His butt slammed into the ground before he even realized his legs gave out, sending a jolt of pain up his spine. He still ached from his injury, but the pain felt good in that moment. He wanted to feel all of it.

  Tomorrow, he’d be crowned king. What if his mother and his brother were right? What if he failed?

  “Father,” he whispered, tears clogging in his throat. “I can’t …” He couldn’t get the rest of the words out.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, tears streaming down his face, before he felt a presence above him.

  The fire was low enough to provide very little light, but as the shadow sat beside him, he could make out her features.

  “One of the servants told me you were still out here.” Marissa’s voice was quiet.

  “I couldn’t leave him.”

  She nodded as if she understood completely.

  “He was the only reason Dreach-Dhoun hasn’t completely overrun us.”

  She laced her fingers through his for comfort. “Now that’s your job.”

  He turned to face her. “Were you sent here just to encourage me?”

  She smiled. “Perk of being your prisoner.”

  “You were never my prisoner.”

  Her lips tilted up. “I’m an enemy soldier. Of course I was.”

  “I knew the moment I saw you with that bow you were no enemy.”

  “Come.” She stood and tugged on his arm. “The flames are almost out. Your father’s soul is a part of the earth now, lending us power. He doesn’t need you to sit here any longer.”

  He let her lead him back into the palace, his guards following close behind.

  “I need a drink.” He scrubbed a hand across his face.

  “I’ll leave you to go find one.” She turned in the direction of her rooms, but his voice stopped her.

  “Please don’t. I … I can’t abide the thought of being alone with my thoughts.”

  “Thinking can be dangerous,” she agreed, looping her arm through his.

  Was this a bad idea? He couldn’t escape the thought as he pushed through into his rooms, and they were alone. Releasing her arm suddenly, he walked across to the pitcher of ale sitting on the table by the window.

  Pouring two cups, he offered her one. “I’m sorry, I don’t typically keep wine in here. Ale is all I have. I could have someone fetch something different.”

  She accepted the cup. “I prefer ale.”

  They drank in silence until she’d emptied her cup. Marcus offered her a second, but she declined, setting her cup on the table. He’d barely touched his as thoughts of his father kept him slumped in his chair.

  Now he knew this was a bad idea. Marissa could see the weakness in him, he was sure of it. She’d regret her words to him and come to the same conclusion his mother and brother had. He was unfit. He cared too much.

  She stood and he was sure she was going to leave. Instead, she crossed towards him and took his full cup from his hands to set it on the table. She cupped his chin and tilted his head so he met her eyes as she searched for something. He didn’t know what. Seemingly finding it, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

  Shock froze him. “What are you doing?” he whispered against her lips.

  “I didn’t know why I was so empty before I came to Dreach-Sciene. Before I saw friendship and family ties. Before I saw grown men and women shedding tears. This war had no meaning to me. I killed because it was expected. You think your love is a weakness, but I see it as your greatest strength.” Her eyes darted from side to side as she hovered in front of him. “I want all of this to mean something. Give me something to fight for.”

  She barely got the last word out before he’d pulled her to him, his mouth devouring hers. She opened for him with a groan. All sadness drifted away, replaced by desperation and something akin to contentment. Even if it only lasted the night, he needed that feeling.

  He stood and lifted her easily. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her towards the bed, all conversation forgotten.

  Her back hit the feather mattress and she pulled him against her, their hearts thundering against each other.

  Give her something to fight for.

  He knew exactly what she meant.

  He fought for his people. His friends. His family. He’d never question the need to sacrifice for them. Even then, there was an emptiness to war.

  A meaninglessness.

  It was a cruel reality. Neither side came out intact. And in their kingdoms, the wars just came again. Every generation suffered the same fate.

  With Marissa warm beneath him, he could almost forget the destruction. Almost. He was to be king, and a king’s mind was never at ease.

  But as he gave the beautiful woman in his bed something to fight for, she gave him something more. A belief that the fight could be won. That he could be the king to protect his people.

  * * *

  The luxury of time was something they’d never had. So, one the day after they buried his father, Marcus Renauld was crowned king of Dreach-Sciene. Like the day before, the ceremony had lacked the flourish. There were to be no feasts, no balls. No celebration of any kind. Not while the funeral pyre still smoked.

  The crown was heavy with the weight of a people. It was a simple silver circlet he’d seen his father wear on formal occasions.

  Then it was back to work. He had a kingdom to prepare for winter.

  That meant meetings. His advisors reported to him on grain and other stores. They were down because of the war. It was set to be a hard winter, with the people struggling for survival, but survive they would. He’d make sure of it.

  He was rarely in the palace for the next few weeks as he traveled to check on the winter camp of the army, visiting the town of Whitecap to receive reports from Adrian Coille. He went into the nearby villages and sent others further out.

  Drake insisted the tasks he did were things that could be accomplished by messengers, but Marcus wanted to see things for himself. Many of the crops had been destroyed by Dreach-Dhoun and he needed to trust his people wouldn’t starve before spring.

  Weeks later, he walked into the training yard to find Marissa and Drake facing off against each other. Marcus had been listening to Drake insist he send the woman away since the day they returned.

  The king hadn’t had a moment alone with her since the night before he was crowned, but he watched her from a distance. Her graceful movements were on full display as she spun a sword between her hands.

  Marcus’ eyes shot to his brother. They weren’t using blunted practice swords. Those were real steel blades. What were they thinking?

  Marissa would be no match for Drake. He was the best swordsman in Dreach-Sciene.

  Drake’s lip curled as he watched the woman spin her blade as if it wasn’t meant for killing. Marcus shook his head. None of her tricks would intimidate his brother. Her fancy moves wouldn’t hold up against his precise movements. His size was deceptive, concealing the force at which he could drive her back.

  “No magic,” he growled.

  She lowered her blade, cocking an eyebrow, and inclined her head in agreement. Her confidence was mesmerizing. As she walked forward, flashes of their night together entered the king’s mind.

  His mother had already mentione
d marriage. She said a king needed a queen. Would she accept a woman of his choosing? Did it matter if she did? He was the king.

  He liked Marissa. Respected her. And the match could be advantageous if her father were to join their side of the fight. In truth, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  There was a confident cock to her shoulders as she readied her stance. “Come at me, prince.”

  A growl ripped from Drake’s throat, and Marcus prepared himself in case he needed to step in.

  Drake charged, his emotions taking control of him. As Marissa sidestepped the arc of his blade, Marcus smirked. Drake never let his emotions rule him. What was it about this woman his brother hated so much?

  “She’s good,” his mother spoke from behind him.

  Marcus turned, surprised to see her in the training yard. The dowager queen had barely left her rooms since the ceremony. Marcus hadn’t made an effort to attend to her. He turned back to the fight. The clang of steel crashing together rang throughout the yard.

  “Yes, Mother. She’s good.”

  Marissa held her own against Drake, meeting every swipe of his sword. He went for her legs and she jumped to avoid the blade. They stared at each other for a moment, both panting. Drake scowled, but a grin stretched Marissa’s face.

  “Ready to call it a day, prince?” she asked lightly.

  He only grunted and resumed the fight. Their movements were perfectly in sync, each one just as quick as the other. They read their actions perfectly. Each time Drake attempted to use brute strength to force her to concede, Marissa danced away.

  Her cheeks flushed as the fight continued. Her bright hair clung to her face as rivulets of sweat dotted her pale skin.

  “She’s also the enemy,” the dowager queen spoke up again.

  Marcus spun on his mother. “Marissa Kane is an ally in this fight.”

  “You’ve always been naive, son. I had hoped as king you’d grow out of that.”

  His anger simmered as he showed her his back. Marissa leaped forward with a quick jab of her sword. It barely missed Drake. She was the woman who said she believed in him. She barely knew him, yet her faith was stronger than his own mother’s. How did she do that?