“Please, I only want a moment of your time.” To his horror, his voice cracked.
She turned to face him, her expression guarded. “I don’t know what happened to her. She disappeared.”
Aclan stepped forward then stopped when the woman tensed.
He held his hands up. “I know. I’m trying to...” He shook his head and sat on an overturned log. What was he trying to do? Save his kingdom. Save his father. And how exactly was he supposed to do that? He placed his face in his hands and took several deep breaths. The weight of his situation pressed down on him.
Footsteps approached and a cool hand rested on his shoulder. Aclan took a shaky breath and looked up in the woman’s kind face. She took a step back.
“The person who was poisoning her is poisoning my father, and I’d hoped she told you something. Anything.” He choked the words through a tight throat.
The woman gasped, then awkwardly bowed. The baby on her hip scrunched up its face as though it was about to cry.
“Please don’t do that!” He shot to his feet and gazed around. Hendrik stepped forward. Aclan shook his head. Hendrik melted back into the forest.
“You’re...you’re the prince,” the woman stammered.
Aclan nodded. “But no one can know I’m here. Please.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“My father is not in his right mind,” Aclan continued quickly. “I think his counselor is trying to usurp him. I need a way to make him better.”
She shook her head. “I know of no way.”
He sat back down and buried his face in his hands again. He felt the woman sit next to him and looked up into a tiny quizzical face. The baby reached for him.
The mother grasped the child’s hand.
“It’s okay,” Aclan said. “He’s a handsome little thing.”
“I’m sorry, my prince. I would help you, but I can’t. Ilythra is a healer. I’m not. I don’t know how she recovered from her ailment.”
“So you’ve seen her.”
The woman looked leery again.
“I know you’re taking a chance even talking to me. And believe it or not, I’m taking a chance too. I do thank you.” He stood.
She placed a hand on his arm. Her dark eyes were soft. “One more thing. You are right to be afraid of the counselor. There is an army of Rugians in the mountains a few days’ march from here. War is in the wind.”
He felt the blood leave his face. “Thank you. You have helped me more than you know.” Aclan fished in his pocket and took out two gold coins and pressed them into the woman’s hand.
Her eyes widened. “Thank you, but—”
“Just take them.”
She dropped her gaze but nodded.
Aclan walked back to where Hendrik waited. Such a small amount, forgotten coins in his pocket. But he had a feeling it was more than the woman had seen in her lifetime.
Things were going to change.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The pungent smell of horse and hay met her as she entered the barn. Warmth caressed her face and cocooned her body. Ilythra moved past several horses, pausing to speak to a few as she made her way down the corridor to Melior.
A glance down an adjoining passage toward Arien’s stallion, Namir, confirmed she’d beaten the healer to the stable. They’d agreed to begin her training with Siobani weaponry after breakfast. She’d come early to spend time with Melior. The stallion stood, his neck extended, observing Ilythra’s journey. His neigh echoed down the stable.
“Jealous?” Ilythra scratched Melior between his ears and produced a chunk of sugar from her pocket. “Don’t be, I only brought you a treat.” The horse’s delicate muzzle picked the sugar lump from Ilythra’s upturned palm.
It had been a long time since she’d learned a new fighting style and she needed to quickly master it. Mohan had shown her a few tricks, but she had a feeling that would look like children playing with wooden swords compared to whatever Arien was about to show her. And the bow was a marvelous weapon that would throw small spears farther than any man could. Her hands itched to get ahold of one of them. She’d never seen the like. It would be a huge advantage against Bredych’s Rugians.
Thoughts of the Siobani healer flitted through her mind as she plucked a brush from a hook by the door and ran it over Melior’s supple coat. Distant and reserved, Arien could prove an able opponent. She had a feeling his aloof exterior hid deep pools of emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. Aimena had said he’d once been known as a prankster. There was no sign of that now. She could picture his brown eyes rimmed with gold. What would they look like if he smiled? Laughed? She took a deep breath and laid her head on Melior’s shoulder. One thing she knew, he wouldn’t let his emotion interfere with his skill.
“My, they’ve been feeding you well.” Ilythra patted the horse’s protruding stomach. “Either that or you need some exercise too.”
Melior blew a gust of air out of his nose.
She ran her fingers through Melior’s dark mane. Someone had plaited several braids into the horse’s hair. “You look handsome,” she said.
Melior nodded.
Ilythra laughed. “You know it, do you?”
Melior turned toward the stable door. Ilythra followed the horse’s gaze. A silhouette stood out against the morning sun. Arien.
A shiver ran down her spine. Melior whinnied. Arien walked into the stable, stretching his hand out to the horse. At least a head taller than Ilythra, he moved with grace and ease. Melior nuzzled his open palm. She caught herself staring at the pair, entranced, and looked away. If Melior liked the healer, he couldn’t be all bad. Melior hadn’t cared for Erhard and refused even to be near him.
“So you’ve been giving him treats too. No wonder he’s getting fat.” Ilythra patted Melior’s flank.
“You were speaking to him?”
The tone in Arien’s voice made her look up. He was curious. “Yes. Sometimes I think Melior can understand me.”
Arien examined her. His eyebrows drew together in obvious puzzlement and excitement. His body relaxed. For the first time, the mask slipped. “The amazing thing isn’t that he understands, but that he understands your human speech. He’s an Elder Born stallion, descended from Tarsala and Danior—first of all horses. It’s said that long ago, they and their descendants mastered the power of speech.” He rubbed between Melior’s ears. “A talent they no longer possess. Even so, our horses are as different from human horses as we are from humans.” Arien focused his dark eyes on her. “I’m curious. How did you know his name?”
Ilythra stared, speechless. It was the most words Arien had ever spoken to her at one time, maybe ever. “What do you mean?”
His lips turned down a fraction. “His name is Melior. It’s the name he gave himself.”
Ilythra studied the stallion with new eyes. She hadn’t named him? He’d somehow told her his name? Once again, words failed her. “I just knew it.”
Arien stared at her in wonder for a moment, then turned to Melior and spoke several words in Siobani. Melior snorted and shook his head.
When Arien turned back, his mask was back in place. He drew himself rigid. “I asked him if he enjoyed his stay in human domain. He didn’t, though I think he’s fond of you. A warrior can have no greater ally than his or her horse. If you are ready, I’ll retrieve Namir, and then we should head out. By this evening, there’ll be a storm.”
Ilythra threw a blanket over Melior, adjusted her sword and led the horse into the light. It had been nice while it lasted. She mentally chastised herself. What did it matter if she broke through Arien’s shell? It shouldn’t be important to her whether he liked her. But now that she’d seen a glimpse behind the walls, she wanted to see it again.
Arien jumped on his horse and, without looking back, rode down a dirt p
ath. Ilythra sighed and followed. Astride Melior, she felt a surge of contentment. Though chilly, the air provided clarity, detailing still-barren trees and imparting them with their own stark beauty. Although spring was in full force, even branching into summer farther south, only a hint of it could be seen in small buds on the trees and early wildflowers sprinkled across the forest floor in the Siobani lands.
Diamond drops from the morning’s rain decorated the branches that arched over the narrow path and created crisscrossed patterns along the forest floor. The dirt path was a graveyard of old leaves and needles, muffling the sounds of hooves against the soft earth. Over a low rise, the track opened, revealing a wide space. Several targets stood at one end of the clearing, a fenced-off square on the other.
“This is our practice field.” Arien dismounted, leading his horse a short distance. Ilythra followed. Speaking in low tones to the stallion, Arien patted his neck then turned to Ilythra. “May I see your sword?”
Ilythra pulled the sword from its scabbard and handed it to Arien. The Siobani froze. Before he masked it, she saw his eyes widen and his skin pale slightly. He studied the sword, his expression guarded.
Reverence in his every movement, Arien traced the engraving with his finger. His hand shook slightly. Wonder filled his eyes as he glanced up before he blinked it away. “Where did you come by this sword?” Each word was distinct but with little air behind it.
“It was a gift from the Queen of Elston.”
“The queen of Elston is most generous with her gifts.” He offered Ilythra the sword’s hilt. She heard his inhalation of breath. “This is an Elder-forged blade. Its name is Naidel. The runes upon the blade are a prayer of protection.”
“Naidel.” Ilythra repeated the word. “It suits her. What does it mean?”
Arien stared in the distance. “Hope.” The word was clipped.
Ilythra took the offered sword. What was the queen of Elston doing now? Her castle was besieged. Did she regret not running? Was she even alive? Anger filled her belly. Bredych would pay. She would see to it.
“You’re talented and well trained,” Arien began. “Today we’ll only move through basic maneuvers.” He withdrew two wooden swords from a pack. “We’ll keep it a simple contest. When I touch you with my sword, I’ve won.”
Ilythra smirked. “You can try.”
The corners of Arien’s mouth turned up slightly. “I’ll attempt. You’ll prevent it. Are you ready?”
Ilythra backed a step. Her heart beat staccato. “Ready.”
A calm infused Ilythra’s body. Shoulders relaxed, she waited for Arien to move.
Without conscious thought, she brought the practice sword around, catching his wooden sword and pushing it up and away from her body.
Arien tried several more simple maneuvers, which Ilythra blocked with ease. She studied his timing. Their swords moved together in a slow dance as they circled the clearing.
Ilythra’s muscles relaxed as she eased into her own rhythm. Her leg gave a few warning twinges but she ignored them. With lightning-fast accuracy, Arien attacked with several strikes. Sweat formed on her brow as Ilythra parried.
“You’re almost Elder quick,” Arien said.
Wooden swords cracked in the clearing, a parody of rhythm sticks. Ilythra’s arms began to tire. Ducking a blow, she twisted away and her leg buckled. Arien brought his sword up and through her defenses, tapping her on the left arm.
A smile shone in Arien eyes. “Forgive me. I saw the opening. I took it. Do your ribs hurt?”
“No. My leg. It’s not bad. Don’t apologize. I would’ve done the same.” She rubbed the muscle then tested her weight on it. “It’s fine now. I just stepped on it wrong.”
“I should’ve stopped sooner, but I’ve seldom had the pleasure of fighting with someone so equal to me in skill. Had you been trained, I don’t know if I could’ve beaten you.”
Ilythra stared at Arien’s retreating form as he moved toward the horses. Once again the Siobani had left her speechless. Once she got over the arrogance of his statement, she realized that he’d just complimented her.
Arien half turned as she neared. “Next time we work on the bow.”
“I am looking forward to that.”
Wind whistled through the trees, stirring the branches of the surrounding trees. “Storm approaches. We should hurry.”
Ilythra glanced to the sky. Angry gray clouds swept across, defeating the pale blue of morning. Watching Arien ready his horse, she pondered how quickly things changed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gierin stood outside the wooden door. He stretched his hand toward the latch but froze before touching it. He swallowed, rubbed the hand on his grimy tunic and reached again. “By the Jackal,” he swore under his breath but apparently loud enough for the guard who bade him enter to hear. He glanced at a face distorted by a sneer.
That was enough for Gierin. He’d never been called a coward, the thing this man’s face so clearly claimed. They’d cast lots. He lost. Damn Gotzon—by rank, he should be here. He reached out. Still, this Bredych... To Gierin’s shame, he shuddered. He wrapped his shattered ego around himself and pulled the latch before he could think about it again.
The door closed behind him with a muffled thud. It was dark in the room, dark and quiet. At first he thought the room empty, and relief filled him. Then he saw the eyes. Unblinking, they stared at him from across the room.
“Enter, please.”
The voice sounded smooth, gentle. Gierin shivered again. This time he didn’t care. The voice was worse than the silence.
“I trust you bring me tidings? Please tell me what happened to the men sent to bring back Ilythra,” Bredych continued.
Gierin took a halting step forward. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. Damn my infernal luck. “My lord, they tracked her to the great gorge on the forbidden land’s edge.” He swallowed without moisture.
“Yes?” prompted the voice.
“The trail vanished on the edge of the gorge. The message said they searched for days. There couldn’t find a path of any kind. They saw the woman on the other side.”
“And they followed her?”
“One stayed with the horses. The one who sent the messages. The others found the trail she took. They did not return.”
A rhythmic tapping began in the room, quiet but without pause. Gierin waited, waited for Bredych to speak, waited for the drumming to cease. It seemed to grow in volume until it filled his head. It reminded him of rapping a blunt stick on stone. He placed his hands over his ears and still it echoed. Finally, when he thought he would go mad, it stopped. Silence was worse.
“Why is it you’re telling this? Where is Gotzon?” Bredych asked.
“He is in town.” Gierin wanted to lie. He tried to lie. “We cast lots. I lost.”
A mirthless laughter filled the room. “Games? You like games?”
An image from his childhood filled Gierin’s mind. His mother’s cat had caught a small bird and was playing with it. He’d laughed at the bird’s feeble attempts to escape, only to be swiped down by the cat at the last possible moment before it gained his freedom. He remembered his mother had scolded him. He’d felt no remorse until now.
He gazed into the eyes and knew he would not escape either. Courage from somewhere filled his heart. “You’ll kill me?” His voice sounded strange to his ears.
“Kill you? I’m reasonable, Gierin.”
Gierin heard rustling and the eyes came closer.
“Surely your companions will die, very slowly. Fate is a fickle mistress, is she not? Still, you’ve served me well in the past.”
Hope filled Gierin’s heart. Perhaps he’d be pardoned.
Something metal reflected the dim light of Bredych’s eye
s. What did I spill on myself? The thought traveled through Gierin’s mind as he felt a rush of warm liquid pour down his chest.
“Then again, failure can’t be rewarded, now, can it?” Bredych’s voice sounded through the roaring in his ears.
Gierin’s knees crumpled. Darkness clouded his vision. Bredych wiped a bloody knife on the fur of his shoulder. That’s my blood. He didn’t have time for the shock to settle in his gut. Bredych’s clean blade was the last thing he saw before he crumpled and surrendered to darkness.
* * *
Silver stars woven into the fabric above her bed caught the moonlight, transforming the canopy into a night sky. Ilythra studied the effect and then turned toward the window. The moon gazed into the room; plump and slow, it seemed to hesitate as it journeyed across the heavens. Why am I not sleeping?
Without conscious thought, Ilythra climbed out of bed, pulling on a thick robe. The latch on the door was cold as she opened it into a colder night. Ghostly moonlight cast upon the landscape below, transforming the forests into a netherworld of surreal lines and shapes. Dark evergreens stood vigil over lesser trees, their branches silver against the starlit sky.
All thought of sleep gone, Ilythra gazed into the quiet night, enjoying the silence. Cold air held a hint of moisture, though not a cloud dimmed the celestial display. Water pooling beneath a cascade captured the moon, dividing it into ripples of light, then reforming the orb in its stillness.
Aimena had taught her the Siobani word for pool that morning. She whispered it aloud then turned to the forests, uttering the words for tree, branch, bird. She gazed up to the moon, and a smile touched her mouth. The Siobani word for moonlight was arien.
Her Siobani bow, finished that afternoon, lay on the table. Ilythra could still feel the warm, smooth wood. Hear the satisfying sound of the released string. Arien hadn’t hidden his approval of her efforts, though he hadn’t been generous with his praise either. Before she could truly master the weapon, he’d insisted she learn to make one. Only that way, he’d said, could she know her bow. It had sounded like something her grandfather would say.
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