The Remedy (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  Lunch with my father was a sober affair. Neither of us spoke much once he informed me that Julien and Gerrias had returned in the early morning hours—having been unable to locate Tarlo de Veir. Although there was much to say, words seemed inadequate. The gravity of our parting so soon after we’d met, especially with the possibility of sabotage hanging over our heads, rested heavy and thick within our hearts.

  Early afternoon found me dressed in a traveling gown with my hair coiled around my head and the silver circlet in place. I had been instructed to await my father’s escort in my chambers, but I was not surprised when I detected Julien’s approach.

  I’d left my chamber doors open, so he walked directly to me and took my hands. The frustration and unease he felt for having not found Tarlo was written across his face, but neither of us mentioned it. There was no point.

  A sigh escaped my lips, letting a bit of my anxiety out with it. I couldn’t explain how glad I was that he would be with me on this journey. His very presence calmed me on a level that sank under my skin and into my blood. Even back in the Great Wood, when we were little more than strangers, it was Julien’s comfortable companionship, the way he knew just the right thing to say—or when to say nothing at all—that helped me to believe I was the Ryn. Now those uniquely Julien traits continued to offer hope that I could survive this quest, and reassurance that, even if I didn’t survive, I would have done my duty.

  Julien stepped back. As his eyes roved my form from tip to toe, his expression shifted. The slow build of a roguish smile sent a wisp of emerald fire up the back of my neck and it was that same heat that defined his expression.

  “It will be a long time before I’ll look upon my princess again.”

  “Hardly.” I laughed and ducked my head to hide the color in my cheeks. “I’ll join you tonight at my father’s camp.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Rozen will. It’s not quite the same.” His hand lifted to caress my cheek. I closed my eyes and tilted my face into his palm.

  “Rynnaia?” he whispered.

  I opened my eyes.

  “I love you.”

  My breath caught.

  “Whatever happens,” his voice was low but full, “from this moment on, never doubt that my heart is yours.”

  For some time, I’d held the surety of his words in my heart and had felt their confirmation in the colors of his thoughts, but hearing them aloud seared my very soul with their song.

  My breath left me in a rush as he pulled me close and wrapped me in his arms.

  “I wanted to tell you, to say the words, without an audience,” he whispered against my hair. “And I fear this may be our last chance to speak privately until after—” he broke off and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. As chaste as the gesture was, it sent a flash of heat to the tips of my toes.

  Julien must have felt it, too, for he loosened his hold and stepped back. His eyes were troubled as he brought my hand to his lips, and then clasped it between both of his.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have vowed to protect you with my life, but the prophecy seems to nullify my vow in places. That is hard to accept.” He paused and his tender but troubled smile pierced my heart. “Perhaps I put a bit too much trust in my sword.”

  The memory of his arms, his kiss—even though it only touched my hair—still coursed through my blood, making my voice a bit breathless. “Do you think I should have a sword of my own?” I had always wanted a sword, but none of my brothers had been inclined to tutor me in the use of such a weapon.

  Julien’s brows drew together. “Can you wield a sword, Rynnaia? Has my sister given you some sort of lessons on the sly these past few days of which I was not informed?”

  I shook my head. But how hard could it be, really? It was a metal stick. One side was sharp. Even a novice could do a bit of damage to an enemy if pressed, couldn’t they?

  Couldn’t I?

  Julien stepped back and pulled his broadsword from its sheath. Placing the tip on the floor, he gestured for me to take it.

  The dawn of a grin stretched my cheeks as I wrapped my hand around the sword’s hilt. I lifted it. It wobbled. I scowled. Princess or not, I was no weakling. I’d worked hard to retain the muscle I’d gained the last time I’d pretended to be Julien’s squire.

  But even then, I had not carried a sword. A dagger, yes. And I was proficient with it. But not a sword.

  The weight of the weapon surprised me. The sword wiggled and wobbled in my grasp. I sighed. My lack of strength and nonexistent skill obliterated any advantage the mere possession of such a weapon might give me.

  With a bit more speed than intended, I let the tip return to the floor.

  “Next time, then,” I said.

  “Next time?”

  “Well, yes!” I lifted my chin. “After Erielle has trained me, of course.”

  Julien took back his sword. Lifting it up as if it were a twig of cottonwood, he slid it into its scabbard. “I think your father would agree with me that we hope there will not be a next time.”

  “Even if the Cobelds are defeated, other enemies will arise in time. The Dwonsil warriors have proven that the Cobelds do not hold a monopoly on mischief within the realm,” I argued. “Even if I don’t see another rebellion in my lifetime I see no reason to allow myself to become lazy, and thus unprepared.”

  “I won’t argue with that. Although, should you decide to follow through with this threat, your father—”

  “Threat?”

  “I meant no disrespect, Your Highness,” he added when I crossed my arms and glared. His eyes sparkled. “I only mean that I long for peace in E’veria and for your safety. I hope that if you train at swordplay it will be just that. A means for your own entertainment.” He smiled and I relaxed my posture. “Once our current expedition is concluded, I hope you will never need to worry about defending yourself again.”

  He tilted his head and held out a hand. His lips quirked. “Would you indulge your lowly servant and forgive my impertinence?”

  Even if I had been truly angry with him I couldn’t have continued to be once I saw that spark dancing in his eyes. I slid my hand into his. “You are forgiven.”

  His lips brushed across my knuckles and he gently turned my hand over and opened my fingers. Bending over my hand, he kissed my palm, and then closed my fingers around it.

  “To carry with you, Rynnaia.”

  Tears sprang in my eyes. There was something so solemn, so sacred, about his gesture. It made his love seem a tangible thing. I pressed the kiss against my heart and then reached for his hand. Closing my eyes, I kissed his palm as he had mine. “To carry with you, Julien. And with it, you have my heart and my devotion. I love you.”

  A glimmer of moisture in his eyes added depth to his smile. And then, almost as if they were pulled by an invisible cord, our kissed hands met in the space between us, upright and flush against each other. We stood like that, our eyes speaking volumes, our hands sharing our kisses, until my attention was stolen.

  “The King approaches,” I whispered. Our hands dropped to our sides. “It would appear our adventure is about to begin.”

  “Until this eve, then.” Julien reached into his pocket and removed a folded square of parchment, which he slipped into my hand just before my father entered the room.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly to my father before exiting.

  When I met my father’s eyes a trace of humor moved across his worry-worn face, and when he reached for my hand, he noted the parchment Julien had given me.

  “Ah, courtship,” he said with a chuckle. Then, with a sigh, he regained his seriousness. “Vayle and her maids are ensconced in the carriage. The procession waits only for our arrival. Are you ready?”

  I nodded and took his arm. He led me from the palace and helped me up the steps and into a carriage that looked like a lidless jewel box on wheels. Behind it, even more ornate, was the matching but enclosed version of the
jewel box carriage where Vayle and her lady’s maids awaited behind thick, black-lined curtains of moss-green silk.

  I reached for my skirts but the crinkle of parchment revealed Julien’s note, still in my hand. Careful not to drop it, I lifted the fabric, and allowed my father to assist me up the cast-iron steps where I then took my place upon the downy cushions.

  My father squeezed my hand before letting go and hurried away. He was second-guessing his decision to lead the procession rather than ride with me, but he didn’t change his course. I was glad he didn’t try to speak to me. I was not sure my throat, as thick as it felt, would allow me to reply. Part of me wished he would ride in the carriage with me, but I feared being reduced to a puddle of tears if I was in his presence one moment longer.

  Knights on horseback lined either side of the open carriage, but I was its only passenger. To distract myself from the oddness of the arrangement while I waited for our procession to begin, I unfolded Julien’s parchment.

  He’d neither addressed it nor added his signature, but his tidy, masculine penmanship was as familiar as the hand that had slipped the parchment into mine.

  As you’ve no doubt noticed, I’m of an age at which I should be well-practiced in the art of courtship, he wrote. Sadly, I am a novice, but I hope my lack of skill will not reflect upon my sincerity in this endeavor to woo.

  If I were a poet, I might find a more clever way to convince you of the fullness of my heart whenever you are near and the loss it feels when we are even a room apart. Sadly, however, that gift seems to have perished with the ancestress who now sends us forth.

  I smiled. Ah, Lady Anya. I thought back to the otherworldly visitation from Julien’s many-greats-grandmother and of how I’d recognized her by the bright green of her eyes—the same deep emerald hue as Julien’s.

  Although my suit has gained your father’s permission, the method of our paths’ divergence places a series of severe obstacles to conventional courtship in our immediate future. Yet I find within me no desire, nay, not even the ability to postpone my pursuit. But how to proceed?

  This question plagued me until I realized that, where circumstances will prevent me from expressing my love aloud, parchment and ink will comply. Therefore, I urge you to be watchful, for while you journey you may find the odd scrap of inked parchment tucked here and there. And with it, a small measure of my heart, kept in trust for you.

  For I am ever, yours.

  I read the missive over and again before surreptitiously tucking the note into my bodice to carry it close to my heart. If my smile was extra wide as I waved to the crowds lining the streets of Port Dyn, I could say it was for the relief of finally greeting my people. But truth be told, while that relief was real, it was the promise of Julien’s courtship, a luxury I had not expected to enjoy while en route to Mount Shireya, that lifted my cheeks with pleasure.

  It took hours to get beyond the city, so thick were the crowds, but when we were a short distance away, my father called us to halt and I was moved to the closed carriage.

  Vayle and one of the maids sat on one side, but I could not see her face beneath the heavily hooded cloak that hid her newly reddened hair. I took the seat next to the other maid, and once I had finished adjusting my skirts, my gaze fell on the rug covering the hatch on the floor. Before I let my trepidation overtake me, I pulled the curtain slightly back and peeked outside.

  Julien rode up beside the carriage, his face a mask with one question at its center. Our eyes met, and he had his answer: yes, I’d read his note.

  A tinge of pink appeared, something I had never seen brush his cheeks on such a temperate day. Warmth flooded the center of my soul. In Julien’s eyes I saw every word of his letter and more.

  I’ve never so looked forward to finding parchment and ink, I spoke into his thoughts.

  He inclined his head, the only sort of bow one could do atop a horse.

  I reached out to touch Salvador’s nose. The beautiful silver stallion whinnied softly in response to my touch and I sensed that he not only knew that the dynamic of my relationship with Julien had changed, but that we were not going on a peaceful journey.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The pace quickened for an hour or two, and the carriage, even as ornate and cushioned as it was, bounced the four of us about as if we were dice in a giant’s hand. Every so often we slowed for a village. And then another. Each time, I waved at the gathered crowds, sending the assurance of my presence within the King’s caravan.

  We reached the village of Yeld at dusk, and although it was not nearly as large a settlement, crowds had thronged in anticipation of seeing the King and his newly revealed Ryn. Vayle remained beneath her cloak, but I, as expected, leaned out the carriage windows and waved to the people gathered along the main thoroughfare, Dynwey Road. We traveled with much fanfare, as my father had planned, revealing to all the gossiping tongues the reality of the princess and the direction of her travel.

  The sun had nearly set by the time we exited Yeld. The caravan changed position, allowing my father to drop back behind the protection of the guard as night fell.

  The sun had just kissed the western horizon when I felt the approach of the King’s Army.

  We left the road to make camp. The sky darkened and I asked the maids to light the oil lamps and draw the curtains.

  “I think you can take off your cloak now, Vayle.”

  She did and I nearly gasped. Vayle had been sequestered in a set of chambers far away from mine and, in the busyness of readying for the journey, our paths had not crossed. I had not seen my imposter since her hair had been dyed.

  Her hair was not quite as deep a copper as mine, but the color was almost an exact match to my mother’s. And Vayle’s eyes, while they couldn’t be as blue as an Andoven’s, looked convincingly bluer with the red hair than they had when she was blond. Beneath the cloak, she wore a traveling gown exactly like my own. It wasn’t a perfect disguise, but it would do.

  I removed the circlet from my head and held it for a moment, running my finger over the glowing Tirandite stone that usually rested on my forehead. It flared at my touch.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated on the memory of words I’d heard spoken to my mind by The First as I floated in the Bay of Tirandov, among his charming enikkas, those tiny creatures of light and comfort.

  You are mine.

  The Voice had claimed me as his own.

  I will be with you.

  He had given me his word.

  I opened my eyes. “This was the crown worn by my mother when she married my father. She gave it to me, and now, for a short time, I entrust it into your care.”

  I placed the circlet on Vayle’s head. Even the dim lamplight couldn’t hide the pink tinge that rose on her cheeks, but her eyes remained downcast. Her lower lip trembled.

  “While you possess this crown you are no longer Vayle, the blacksmith’s daughter. You are the Crown Princess of E’veria, and you must remember to act accordingly.”

  When she met my eyes, I recognized the disquiet within her, having seen its reflection so recently and so often in my own mirror.

  Suddenly, Vayle gasped. Her hand flew to her forehead as the Tirandite stone flashed warm and bright orange for a moment before settling its warmth to a more comfortable glow.

  “Truth knows you, Vayle,” I repeated the words Celyse had said to me the first time the stone had warmed my own forehead on Tirandov Isle. “You are no less a daughter of The First King than I am. You will do well as my ambassador.” I smiled. “Hold your head high and do not be afraid to meet the King’s eyes. Speak with confidence and know that I believe you can do this and do it well.”

  “I will do my best to honor your faith in me, Your Highness.”

  “I know you will.” I took a deep breath. “Now,” I said, leaning down to pull a gunnysack from beneath the cushioned bench, “it’s my turn. Shall we see if we can turn this princess into a wormy little squire?”

  Getting dressed inside
the carriage was a challenge with three other people—especially considering I barely knew them—and oil lamps burning. Vayle’s help was most appreciated, but my sense of modesty was sorely tested just the same, especially when she helped to affix the binding that would hide my more womanly curves. When that humiliating exercise was complete, she held a small mirror while I adjusted the black hairpiece and squire’s cap. Finally, I put on the gray-tinted spectacles Erielle had given me all those months ago.

  I turned to address the maids, whose mouths were agape in shock. “It’s a rather effective disguise, is it not?” I grinned.

  They nodded.

  “Now, I believe there will be dinner trays prepared soon. Would you mind fetching them for us?”

  They scurried away and soon returned. I savored the simple but hearty meal that had been brought from Holiday Palace and warmed on the fire, with the knowledge that it would be the last such bounty I would know for a long time. The company traveling with me would rely on the forest for food, and once within Mount Shireya, our sustenance would be limited to keola, the precious mixture that served as a filling meal when steeped in water.

  As I ate, I relaxed back into the cushions. The luxury within this carriage, while nothing compared to that which I’d quickly adapted to in my chambers at Holiday Palace, was something I might miss even more than the food tomorrow night—and over the next several weeks of nights—while I slept on a bedroll in Shireya’s heavily forested hills.

  Once our trays were removed, the sounds of the camp began to die down. The longer we sat in the silence of anticipation, the more my stomach clenched and the less I appreciated the meal I had so greedily consumed.

  Rynnaia.

  Finally, my father’s voice reached my mind. It was time.