by Renee Wildes
Deane muscled Torgon betwixt Hani`ena and Gloreriell. The heir’s stallion ducked his head as Hani`ena snapped at him. “It is the right hand’s duty to protect the heir.”
“The right hand protects the king,” Dara corrected him. “You aren’t king yet, Highness.” Gloreriell whirled and lunged to where Kikeona and Milisena spun and reared to avoid goblin arrows.
“Dara!” Loren shouted. “Get back here!”
Dara eyed one bandy-legged goblin running down the hill toward her. She threw her left-hand dagger, buried it to the hilt in the goblin’s belly.
He didn’t even slow down.
Cianan shouldered his bow and drew his own toshi sword. Kikeona shrieked and charged straight at the should-have-been-direly-wounded attacker. Cianan swung his sword, and the hunched body fell over. The head rolled the rest of the way down the hill.
“Belly wounds shall not stop them,” Cianan called above the din of battle. “Eye. Throat. Beheading.”
“And trampling,” Gloreriell added.
Dara swallowed. “I’m not big enough to trample anything.” The eye was a small target in a surrounding shield of facial bones. “Are those skull bones as thick as they appear?”
“Aye,” the stallion confirmed.
She didn’t have a blade long enough for beheading a creature that low to the ground, and had never been trained in swordplay anyway. “The throat it is.”
A trumpeting bugle pierced the air, and Dara watched with horror as Eryl crashed head-over-knees with three green-fletched arrows buried in his chest. Pari was already rolling when he hit the ground and staggered up, blood running from a cut on his forehead.
“Nay!” Loren shouted.
“To the king,” she yelled.
Milisena wheeled, Lord Elio dismounting and drawing shield and sword. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder as they prepared to protect their friend and former king on the ground. Eryl lay unmoving in the faded leaves.
“We can help,” the voices insisted. “They be not fireproof.”
“Fire?” Dara sent to Hani`ena.
“Nay. You have no control.” The mare was adamant. “You would burn down the entire hillside.”
Dara gritted her teeth. The rangers and Cianan fired arrows up the hill. Lord Elio and Pari hacked with their swords any goblins that got through the wall of arrows. The war horses accounted for as many kills, kicking and stomping enemy raiders into the leaf-strewn mud. No longer a heroic symbol, Loren swung Justice with grim determination while his brother struggled to string his bow.
This was the warrior-prince she admired—a man of action and skill. Her heart beat faster as she watched him fight with courage and honor, defending his brother, who should have been able to defend himself.
Cianan cried out. Kikeona turned, and Dara saw a green-fletched arrow protruding from his shoulder. “Go,” she ordered Gloreriell, drawing her last knife and throwing it through the eye of the goblin who’d shot Loren’s best friend.
Gloreriell reared over another arrow. Dara lost her balance and fell to the ground. She lay there, stunned, trying to will her body to move. The voices screamed at her as a goblin stood over her with a triumphant sneer and a raised long-knife. The white stallion held off another, but Cianan was off Kikeona and betwixt Dara and the enemy. She rolled away as the goblin’s knife came down. It clashed against Cianan’s sword and slid aside, leaving the elf a split-second opening. He pushed the goblin into Kikeona’s path and she stomped it into the hillside. Gloreriell finished off his own opponent, as well.
The surviving goblins began retreating up the hill. Green-fletched arrows flew back down at the defenders. Dara smiled weakly as Cianan held out a hand and hauled her to her feet. He yanked the arrow from his shoulder with a grimace. Her eyes sought out Loren and found him farther down the hill, betwixt the hill and Deane. A goblin arrow streaked past her, betwixt Loren and Hani`ena’s neck.
A gurgled cry told its target. Loren spun in Hani`ena’s saddle. Above his armor, Deane clutched his throat. Blood spurted around his fingers with every heartbeat.
“Shut it down. Lock it down,” Loren yelled.
Dara and Cianan ran down the hill.
Deane shook his head. He slid sideways off Torgon’s back.
Loren was off Hani`ena and caught his stricken brother afore the heir hit the ground. “Trance. Banisha verilli far—Gloria verilli far—” He spoke too fast, trying to hold back the blood. “I cannot heal you, brother. Please—”
Dara knelt aside the brothers. She reached for her powers, but they did not respond. Silently she raged at her iron-bound helplessness and cursed Jalad.
Deane paled and went limp.
“Nay,” Loren yelled. “Focus. Trance down. Stay with us.”
Deane stilled as the light faded from his eyes.
Pari and Lord Elio reached Loren’s side a moment too late. He knelt frozen, covered in his brother’s blood, a terrible look on his face. Pari took both of his grandsons in his arms and wept for all of them.
Dara swallowed hard. “What happens now?”
Lord Elio’s voice was grim. “My lords, we must get him home. There is naught more we can do for him here. We must go.” He pulled Pari to his feet.
Torgon would not let them near him with a body smelling of blood and death, so Loren wrapped Deane in his own cloak and laid his brother’s body across Hani`ena’s back. The white mare stood silent on the death of the heir.
Gloreriell was equally pragmatic. “We go home.”
Lord Elio mounted Milisena and turned to one of the rangers. “Ride ahead and tell what has befallen here.”
“Aye, my lord.” The ranger’s mare took off at a dead run.
Dara hopped down and strode over to Loren. He would not shut her out. She placed a hand on either side of his face and forced him to meet her gaze. “Gloreriell’s strong enough to carry us both. You ride with me.” He stared right through her as if she wasn’t there. She frowned and tapped his cheek twice, just hard enough to make him focus. On her. For real. “You ride with me,” she repeated. He nodded, gave her a leg up and swung up behind her.
After a sharp smack on the neck to get the chestnut stallion’s attention, Pari mounted the still-skittish Torgon. Cianan took point again. Hani`ena strode out alone, bearing her burden behind Kikeona. Pari followed, then Dara and Loren. Then came the remaining rangers, with Lord Elio as rear guard.
Loren rode as if in a trance, automatically adjusting for the stallion’s movements, but his mind was miles—or years—away. Dara leaned back, tried to will some warmth into him. “I’m here,” she told him. “Never forget that. I’m here for you.”
Hours later they were met at the border by the palace honor guard. “Queen Lorelei sent us, my lord,” their commander reported to Pari.
Lorelei? Why not Cedric? Dara cursed her own failure. Never had the iron blocks felt so impenetrable. This was all her fault. She should have been able to heal Deane, remove the arrow.
“This is not your fault,” Gloreriell stated. “If you must blame anyone for your failure, it is Jalad. Blame Deane; self-healing should be automatic. It is taught when they are very small. He should not have panicked. He killed himself.”
Now within sight of Poshnari-Unai, they relaxed and continued on with their journey. Once within the city walls, they wound their way through the streets. The few people they encountered bowed their heads with somber respect and whispered amongst themselves as the column passed.
Loren kept a tight rein on his emotions, but disbelief, self-recrimination and a murderous rage kept leaking through his shields, into Dara.
At the palace, Benilo and his assistants took charge of Deane’s body. Cianan followed them to the House of Healing. Pages took the horses while the warriors continued on to their own destinations. Brannan and Lorelei met their surviving family and Dara atop the steps.
Lorelei gripped Pari’s arm so her knuckles turned white. “Art thou all right?”
He nodded, cup
ping her cheek with one hand. “Where is Cedric?”
Her lips thinned in her pale face. “Justice Hall. He hast barred all from his presence.”
Brannan moved to help Loren. Dara knew Brannan needed to do something. She caught a flash of irritation from the elder brother, but Loren, not as steady as he would have said he was, allowed the assistance. Not wanting to come betwixt the two surviving brothers, she moved to support Loren from his other side, sliding an arm around his waist.
“Where—” Loren’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Where is Paulette?”
“In her rooms,” Brannan answered. “She has been told, but is…in no condition to greet anyone at this moment. She has her women with her, and her relatives have been summoned. Speak with Father first.”
Loren shuddered. Pari came over to place a hand on his elder grandson’s shoulder. “Thou cannot blame thyself. Deane chose to go. He shouldst have been able to survive the injury. He failed himself. This was not thy fault.”
Dara did not think Loren heard him. Something terrible and not entirely sane glittered in his eyes. She caught a sense of twice now from him, quickly blocked. Markale. Loren still blamed himself for his younger brother’s death, and their mother had died after as an indirect result. Now Deane was dead, as well. Again, Loren blamed himself.
Dara was surprised to see Raun pacing outside the hall door. Two impassive warriors guarded it with crossed spears. Raun turned to Pari as the family approached. “They shalt not let me see him.” There was a frantic edge to the Lord of the Treasury’s voice. “He shouldst not be alone.”
Lorelei placed a hand on his arm. Light and compassion poured from her into her son’s best friend. “I thank thee for coming. Thou art a true friend. Go home. Rest. We wilt take care of him, I promise thee. Naught wilt happen to him. Please. Rest.” Power backed that last command.
Dara saw Raun relax. He bowed. “I thank thee, lady, and take my leave. I shalt return tomorrow.”
“That is acceptable.” Pari nodded. He turned to the guards as Raun left. “Stand aside.”
“My lord, King Cedric left strict instructions none were to see him,” the braver—or more foolhardy—of the two said.
“Suffer him later, or suffer me now,” Pari growled.
Dara did not think that much of a choice.
Brannan drew himself up to his full height. “You shall let us pass.”
“Stand aside,” Pari repeated.
The guards’ eyes took in Loren’s appearance and they made a path. Their relief was almost palpable.
Brannan whispered something to one of the guards, who nodded back as the other opened the door. The guard addressed Dara. “Lady, I shall have thy book taken to your chamber.”
“They may. You have other dutiesss.”
Grateful to be freed from the reason for Deane’s death, Dara handed the warrior her leather-bound burden.
Pari led the way into the hall, Lorelei right on his heels.
Dara saw Cedric slumped in his throne in the darkened room, as clearly with the few candles as in full daylight. Cedric looked like he’d aged a millennium in a day; he looked centuries older than Pari now. The weight of his shattered heart, atop Loren’s, was almost more than she could bear. She could barely breathe.
Loren shrugged away from Dara and Brannan, staggered to the dais and dropped to his knees as if he’d no strength left. “I have failed you, Father.” He stared at the hem of his father’s robe as if he dared not look Cedric in the eye.
For long moments Cedric did not respond. Lorelei swayed as if she wanted to move, but restrained herself. Finally the king spoke. “We hath heard accounts of thy valor and how thou tried to save his life after.” Cedric sounded like he was choking.
“Deane panicked,” Pari stated. “He couldst not trance down to stop the flow of blood. Thou knows we cannot heal others. It wast up to Deane alone, and in the panic he forgot how. There was naught Loren, or anyone,” he stared hard at Dara, “couldst do.”
Dara gulped.
Loren shuddered, his shoulders hunched. “I did not wish him dead. He was my brother, for all our differences.”
“I do not blame thee, son.” Cedric’s voice softened. The father returned. “I almost lost both of thee to those accursed goblins.” The king straightened on his throne. “They broke the treaty by their ambush. The ministry is screaming for blood.”
Lorelei laid a hand on her son’s arm. “First we have a funeral to see to. Then we need name a new heir.” She stared at Loren. “Deane was without issue and Paulette is not with child now. The laws of succession must be upheld or there shalt be unrest.”
Loren looked to bolt. She knew he avoided anything to do with royalty and the crown. Only now did she realize what an issue it was. His stance screamed denial; only his grandmother’s will kept him silent.
“Father, let Granther see you to your rooms,” Brannan encouraged. “This is no place for you right now.”
A shiver shook Cedric’s form. “I wouldst see my son.” He reached out to help Loren to his feet, then rose, himself.
Dara watched father and son embrace, a lump in her throat.
“Very well,” Lorelei agreed. “Brannan, wouldst thou show us where they have taken thy brother?” She turned to Dara. “Pari and I shalt take Cedric to Deane. Wouldst thou stay with Loren?”
Wild horses couldn’t have dragged her away. He needed her, whether he’d admit it or not. Dara nodded. “We’ll follow when he’s ready. I won’t leave him, I promise.” She moved to Loren’s side as the rest of the family filed out. When they were alone, she wrapped her arms around him and held him, trying to breathe for both of them. “Let’s go. You need to get out of this room.”
He followed along, outwardly docile but inwardly raging shock and denial. Dara guided him all the way up to their suites, stopping to order food and drink from a page.
Loren opened his door, not saying a word of protest when Dara followed him into the darkened room.
She shut out the world and guided him to a chair afore his unlit fireplace. She stared hard at the ready wood. “Don’t even think about making this difficult,” she ordered the torque. Focusing hard on flames, she pointed to the wood. “Go.” A red ball of energy leaped from her finger into the wood and the kindling burst into flames. She followed with the other fireplace and the torches until the room was daylight-bright and warm. “I’m getting better at this.”
A knock sounded at their adjoining door. “My lady?” Verdeen called.
Dara growled. “Not now. Leave us.”
“Aye, lady.”
Loren spoke not a word to her, his mind a jumble of dark emotions. Her heart ached for him. Dara went into the bathing room and started a hot bath. From the bottles of bath oils, she identified one with a mixture of calming and relaxing herbs. She wondered which healer prepared these. Somehow Brannan came to mind.
A page knocked on the hall door. She opened it and took the tray from his hands. He bowed and left.
Dara set the tray on the table. “A hot bath first, then something to eat.” When he didn’t respond, she moved to stand betwixt him and the fire. Kneeling afore him, she took his ice-cold hands in hers and forced him to meet her gaze. When he did, she smiled. “Now, either I start rumors by stripping you naked and dumping you into that tub, or you follow your healer’s orders and do it yourself.”
She saw the exact moment he returned behind his eyes. “My healer. Is that how you see yourself?” His gaze searched hers.
Dara frowned at the tangled new layer of emotions he projected. She didn’t know what she was to him, precisely. “I am also your friend.” That sounded safe enough. “And as your friend, I’m telling you that you need to clean up and eat something. The world will intrude soon enough. Take this moment I offer you. Go soak for a bit.”
He obeyed, rising. “Very well, friend.” He disappeared within the bathing room, but left the door open. Moments later Dara heard a splash and a yelp. “At
tempting to cook me?”
She came to the door. “Sorry. I like it hot.”
He stared at her over his shoulder. “You need a bath too. Care to join me afore it gets cold?”
There were no sexual undercurrents to the question. Loren probably didn’t even realize what he’d just suggested. All she caught was a fierce desire not to be alone—and an equally fierce resolve to not voice that need. Proud, stubborn prince. “You’ll need help washing your back,” she said, keeping her voice level and practical. “You have blood in your hair,” She grimaced. “Goblin gook.”
A fleeting smile almost lit his face. “Gook?”
She knelt by the tub. “Lie back and close your eyes.”
“I do not want to ever close my eyes,” he confessed. “I keep seeing…” His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard.
“Then focus on me, my face.”
“You have blood in your hair too.”
“I’m a fearsome dragon warrior,” she told him. “I’m supposed to look bloodthirsty and fierce.”
“But you have a tender heart, healer,” he murmured.
“Well, for mercy’s sake don’t tell anyone.” She frowned. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Your reputation is safe with me, elingrena.” He shifted in the water. “Come in. This tub is big enough for both of us.”
She wondered what “elingrena” meant, and blushed recalling the last time he’d said it. Biting her lip, she wriggled out of her boots, belt, breeches and hose, careful to keep her tunic down over her backside.
His eyes lit with rueful amusement. “I cannot believe you would still be shy with me.”
“Fine.” Taking a deep breath, she whipped the tunic over her head and tossed it to the floor. She shivered as his gaze traveled over her body, and resisted the urge to cover herself. He merely held out a hand to help her into the hot scented water, and she settled betwixt his legs, resting hers atop his, facing him.
He spanned her waist with his hands. “You are so beautiful, I almost forget to breathe.” He reached up to tug at her braid, pulling off the restraint and running his fingers through the strands to unravel the weave. “I love your hair. I remember yanking off that ridiculous hat and watching it tumble free.”