The Remedy (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  When Julien and Risson returned from patrol their eyes spoke of what they had found. There were no survivors. The remains of the rest of the family, which had grown by one since Risson had last visited, were just that. Remains. The infant, a baby girl, was found pinned beneath her fallen father. The arrow that pierced his back had been fired at such close range that it had gone through his chest and into her tiny heart.

  Overcome, I covered my face with my hands.

  The Cobelds were responsible for this horror. They and their allies, the Dwonsil warriors.

  How could E’veria’s own people justify actions that would allow such inhuman villainy and needless carnage, even in war? How had my family so wronged the people of the Dwons province that they wanted to destroy us and our Kingdom?

  But how could one so selfish, so foolhardy as I, ever hope to lead this splintered Kingdom to peace?

  How cocky I’d been, setting off on this adventure to find the Remedy. Adventure, ha! I almost laughed aloud, but had I let such an inappropriate sound escape my lips, it would have been more chilling than mirthful. I was neither a brave adventurer nor a royal sage. Stupid. Reckless. Foolish.

  Spoiled.

  The Ryn? Hardly. I was nothing more than a child playing dress-up in a squire’s clothes one day, a princess’s the next. E’veria deserved better.

  “Rynnaia.”

  I lowered my hand and wiped an arm across my face.

  Julien knelt before me, his eyes bearing the weight of what he’d found. “Kinley, Risson, and I have studied the area and . . . the dead. It appears that the attack was Dwonsil in nature, as you saw in the warrior’s thoughts, and likely preceded our arrival by less than half a day. There are also signs that confirm they moved westward.”

  I nodded. Why would they stay? They had done their worst.

  “Night draws near and we must see to the dead.” He took a breath, his eyes on the ground. “Digging graves will take too long, but to leave the bodies will draw predators. If you are agreeable to the idea, I would have us build a pyre and bless their path to Rynloeft in that fashion.”

  I looked behind me at the smoky rubble that had been their farm. It seemed both a sacrilege and strangely appropriate that their bodies should be consumed in the same manner as their livelihood had been taken. But I was unworthy to make this decision. Any decision. And yet he awaited my leave.

  “Do what you think best.”

  He rose and bid Risson, Kinley, and Edru to assist him with the grim task.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I forced myself to watch as each body was brought to the pyre, even those of the enemy archer and Gerrias’s horse, pulled to the pyre by ropes attached to three of the other horses. The disquiet resulting from observing the consequences of my mistakes was hardly enough penance for what I’d caused, but what other service could I offer?

  We had nothing with which to wrap the bodies since their possessions had been destroyed, so the knights covered them in pine boughs. It was still early enough in the season that dry wood was plentiful. The fire caught quickly.

  We stood in a line, me at its center, as the crackling wood caught.

  “Embral e’ Veria.”

  I jumped when Dyfnel voiced one of the names of the First King, even though I knew he would speak a few words to honor the passage of this family.

  “We know little of these souls who have taken the path to meet you in Rynloeft, other than that their last moments in this world were unpleasant. But you knew of them before even time began.” Dyfnel paused. “You know each calamity that will befall us and the number of our days. The very nature of your name lets us know that you weep, along with our chosen Ryn, at the cruelty that led to this tragedy.”

  I hadn’t even realized I was crying again until Dyfnel noted it. I wiped my face, all the while wondering: could this loss have been prevented? A mother, father, and five children, victims of a combination of Cobeld curses, Dwonsil weaponry, and likely, though I dared not ask, the beasts of these ruthless foothills. Could this loss have been prevented?

  What if I hadn’t paused near Canyn and delayed us? Would we have gotten here in time for my knights to have defended these people? What if I had studied harder at Tirandov Isle, and therefore, would have been able to set out on this journey earlier? What if—

  “Our Creator,” Dyfnel said, his own voice thick, “we thank you for these, your servants, and release them to your care.”

  Julien cleared his throat. “May it be so.”

  We all echoed his benediction as the flames reached through the pyre and toward the sky.

  After a few long moments of silence, Julien stepped from the line and turned to face us.

  “At dawn we will water down the fire and depart. For now, we will make camp upwind.”

  Kinley and Edru offered to keep watch over the fire in case it should spread, and Erielle volunteered for the first watch at camp.

  My emotions had exhausted me, but my heart twisted too much over Gerrias, over the misguided pride that had resulted in his incapacity, to allow me sleep. My mind wandered and wallowed, and silently, I wept.

  Julien’s thoughts, even in sleep, were mired in the emotion of his dreams. I should not have allowed myself to infringe upon his privacy to look, but I didn’t have the strength to block him and I had little energy left to try. Perhaps it was my selfish need to have my shame lifted by making some sort of penance that caused me to linger within his mind, for the emotions leaking across the space between us were a sad mixture of duty, anger, confusion, love, and failure, all shadowed in the orange and blue swirls that signified my presence in his mind, his heart.

  Julien’s honor was impeccable, and I, who should have been moved to acquiesce by my respect for him alone, should have supported his leading. Instead I jabbed a thorn into his heart. Julien’s training, his inborn character, and the position of his birth had shaped him into a man worthy of following. What would become of us, of our love, now that I had arbitrarily pulled rank and so disgraced his faith in me? Would he withdraw his courtship, in light of learning I was so childish, so unworthy of the honor his suit bestowed upon me?

  I forced myself to pull gray around my mind and his to block the pain. Morning would come soon enough, and with it, one look in his eyes would likely confirm that he had decided to withdraw his suit.

  I must have finally fallen asleep, for it was the scent of keola that opened my eyes to dawn.

  I sat up and silently took the mug Edru offered, glad that no one else seemed to desire solid food either after the previous day’s tragedy. I walked a bit away from the fire to break my fast, conscious of the eyes upon me, and found a log on which to sit.

  Julien was gone, likely on patrol or seeing to the watering of the pyre. And I, the unworthy Ryn, needed to alert my father as to what had transpired . . . and what might come.

  I closed my eyes and found the King close to his own fire, breaking his fast.

  What’s wrong?

  He didn’t even greet me, except for the close of his eyes and the one swiftly spoken question.

  Was my shame and grief so obvious?

  Of course it was.

  I have dishonored both you and E’veria. Even the voice of my thoughts broke on the admission that tore my heart. I explained the events of the previous day, careful not to give into the temptation to gloss over my pathetic, childish response. I’m sorry.

  My father was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, the change in topic surprised me. As a young Prince, I was passionate about my position and the responsibility I was entrusted with to defend my realm. Like you are now. Unlike you, however, I spent the entirety of my life being raised and trained toward the duties of that position, as well as that of a knight. But even with a lifetime of preparation toward those positions, I made many mistakes on the path to becoming E’veria’s King. And even more after I was crowned.

  He smiled and the love in his eyes both compounded my pain . . . and seemed to put an arm about
my shoulders.

  It is a hard thing, to believe you know the path to take and to find out it was wrong. But you will be a better Queen one day because of the mistakes you make as the Ryn.

  I wiped a tear from my cheek. That’s what Dyfnel said.

  Dyfnel speaks from experience. My father chuckled. He has witnessed many of my bullheaded blunders over the years.

  But Julien . . . I didn’t know how to put my fear into words, so I let the thought hang, drenched in the colors of my emotions.

  Julien loves you. My father’s voice was much surer than my heart. Loving an E’veri Ryn cannot be an easy thing for a knight like Julien. For anyone, actually. I’m sure your mother would agree. He paused and a flash of memories showed me that in the brief years before the Cobeld curse forced my mother to convalesce on Tirandov Isle, arguments between my parents were frequent and fierce. Yet it did not seem to have marred their love.

  Like you, Julien was born to lead, he continued. But he was trained to it within the confines of a Regency and a youth spent training under me. The honest fact is that you outrank him. The hard truth is that his experience outweighs your rank.

  I choked back my desire to weep. I realize that now. But the damage has been done. Apart from injuring his brother, I have damaged his opinion of me. With cause.

  You worry about the future of your courtship.

  I nodded. I do.

  If you love him, do not be so quick to discount his love and commitment to you. Beyond his duty to you as the Ryn, Julien loves a beautiful young woman with a charming Veetrish accent. It was you who won his heart, Rynnaia, not your title. Have faith. Julien will not relinquish his love for you due to one argument. His heart is stouter than that.

  I sincerely hope you’re right, I sighed. But I am also concerned about the outcome of this quest. I am unworthy to have so much of it resting upon me.

  It rests on you, does it? He arched an eyebrow. And in whose hand do you rest? On whose strength do you depend, Rynnaia E’veri?

  I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Though my heart felt like it was drowning in a deep ocean of fear and shame, his gently scolding reminder was a buoy I could cling to.

  I rest in the palm of the one whose strength is inexhaustible.

  You are the Ryn. He gave one solid nod. More importantly, you serve The First. Now serve.

  Thank you, Father. I blew him a kiss with my mind and he faded from my view.

  When I opened my eyes, Julien had returned, but everyone else had gone. So intent was I on speaking with my father that I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The fire had even been snuffed.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “With the horses. If you’ve finished your keola, we’re ready to break camp.”

  I stood.

  “Rynnaia.” Julien’s voice was suddenly thick. He took three strides toward me and took my hand. “I—”

  “Forgive me,” I interrupted him. “I was impetuous, prideful, and foolish. I shouldn’t have fought with you. I shouldn’t have asserted my position above yours. I shouldn’t have gotten your brother injured or his horse killed. All those things are entirely my fault and I take full responsibility.”

  The words fell out of me, as if a flask had been uncorked and upended.

  “I understand if your respect for me as the Ryn has dwindled to the point of finding me unworthy of further courtship, but I do, most heartily, give my word that I will try to earn back your respect, even if I must give up your heart.”

  He lifted our joined hands, and with them, raised my chin until I met his eyes.

  “Should a thousand Dwonsil warriors try to remove my heart from where you keep it, I would fight them and prevail.” He let go of my hands then and wrapped his arms around me. “Even if, as my sovereign future Queen, you would order me to relinquish your love, I would disobey and hold fast to it until I could convince you otherwise.”

  “But Gerrias could have been killed because of my pride.”

  “I love my brother, but even had he been lost, I would forgive you. As I have already.”

  I pressed my trembling lips together and then took a breath as I leaned back to look up into his face. “How can you overlook such an offense?”

  “I love you, Rynnaia. And it is the calling of love to forgive.” He smiled and brushed a tear from my cheek. “We will disagree again, I’m sure. But love is stronger than any argument and is designed to outweigh any offense if we allow it to do its work within our hearts.”

  “But I’m so foolish.”

  “I will only agree to that statement if you choose to spurn my suit. And even then,” he said, offering a sly wink, “I shall do so silently so as to remain loyal to my future Queen. Now give me your hand. It would seem that you need a reminder.”

  He opened my fingers, just as he’d done in my chamber at Holiday Palace, and kissed my palm. “You’ll keep that close?”

  I pressed it against my heart. “Always,” I pledged. “And Julien,” I swallowed, “thank you for seeing to the bodies and for keeping us safe.”

  He nodded, his expression solemn at the reminder of the lives lost to our enemy. “Then by your leave, I would have us quit this place.”

  “Lead on,” I said. “I will follow.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We rode without stopping for a midafternoon rest that day, in silent but mutual agreement that we wanted to put as much distance as we could between us and the losses suffered at the ruined farmstead. Having offered Gerrias my horse, I rode with Julien upon Salvador’s ample, strong back.

  The next day we resumed our usual routine, and little by little, we regained our former camaraderie and humor. Soon we had ridden another week through mindless stretches of green, but we had not yet reached Fennik’s Glenn and Risson’s promise of the opportunity to bathe. Though I kept my complaints to myself, inwardly I began to despair over my own stench. Not that my companions were any better off, of course.

  Time stretched with little to differentiate the view from one day to the next, but at last we reached a long, wide valley which reminded me that there were colors other than green and brown in E’veria. I couldn’t help but lean over and pick one of the tall yellow wildflowers that added such brightness to our view. I lifted it to my nose and—

  “Don’t—!” Julien’s warning came a moment too late. The instant I inhaled, I regretted it.

  My nose burned. Fire reached down my throat and inflamed a tickle that sped back up my nose. I tossed the flower aside and covered my mouth as sneeze after sneeze wracked my frame. Julien pulled a handkerchief from his saddlebag and doused it with water from his canteen.

  “Here.” He handed it to me. “Wash your face and hands. It will help.”

  I took the cloth and rubbed it over my hands and face, pressing it hard against my eyes, but they had already begun to swell. Gritty and full, as if someone had poured sand over my face and then injected the skin of my eyelids with molten lead, they itched and ached.

  “Hold the cloth over your face,” Julien said. “We need to get through this.”

  I just nodded. Within minutes, several of my companions had begun to sneeze or sniffle. Even the horses’ noses were irritated by the blooms.

  “We’ll go slowly, as to not disturb any more pollen than necessary,” Julien’s voice was muffled.

  I looked over my shoulder and lifted the cloth to see that he’d tied a kerchief around his face, over his mouth and nose.

  “We’ll keep a steady pace. Cover your face,” he reminded me. “It will help.” I did.

  As the day wore on everyone’s voices grew rough and I heard one or two complaints of itchy eyes. The flora that drew the buzz of bees around us was no friend to our journey, but no one had been as foolishly enamored by the flowers as I.

  By midafternoon I vowed to never like anything yellow again.

  When we finally reached the other side of the narrow valley, I welcomed the endless green. Or would have, had I been able
to see it. All I could note was the dimming of light and the slightly cooler temperature under the evergreens’ shade. My eyes were completely swollen shut. I had given up the spectacles to my saddlebags days ago, but when I reached up to touch my face, I found only a tightly stretched, bulbous, and foreign shape beneath the cloth. Almost numb in places from swelling, I could only imagine how truly horrible I looked.

  And the sound of my breathing! That alone was all kinds of ugly. A disgusting mixture of wheezes, hisses, coughs, and gurgles, it seemed especially grotesque this close to my own ears. And Julien’s were just behind me.

  We rode for hours with little conversation and everyone’s sneezing eventually stilled, even mine. But I guessed it was only because my nose was too clogged and swollen to allow any further irritants within. So wrapped up in my own misery, I barely noted when the horses slowed, Julien dismounted, and the knights began conversing in hushed tones. Instead I regretted every day I’d taken my health and appearance for granted, pressed the damp cloth to my eyes, and vaguely wondered if I should wish for a swift and merciful death.

  “Can you see well enough to dismount?” A low voice spoke beside me. I hadn’t even realized we’d stopped.

  “Kinley?” My voice rasped in a low and unfamiliar pitch. “Is that you?” I angled my head down and the cloth fell.

  “Ohhh.” He cleared his throat. “You can’t see at all, can you?”

  I bit my lip and wanted to cry.

  “Are you crying? Or are your eyes weeping of their own accord?”

  “I don’t know,” I croaked and a little sob escaped. But I did know, really.

  “Aw, Rose. Don’t cry. It’ll pass.”

  The tenderness in my brother’s voice elicited another disgusting, thick-bubbling sob.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  I held out my left hand, holding to the pommel of Salvador’s saddle with the other for balance. How keenly I missed my sight!

  Kinley placed my hand on his shoulder. “Now allow your weight to rest on me and I’ll lift you down.” He put his hands about my waist and a moment later my feet were on the ground.