by Serena Chase
The Cobeld reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh piece of twine. Humming a tuneless whisper of a melody, he tied it around the mouth of the pouch and slid it across the table.
The woman reached for it, but her hand paused mid-air. “I have your word?”
He nodded, and just before her skin made contact with the specially twisted twine, he whispered a word in his native tongue.
She paused for only a moment, her eyes meeting his as if to say, “Pardon?” but her hand, propelled by greed, was unable to stop its forward motion.
Shock widened her eyes. Even without the cold spark of light that flashed in his beard, he knew when her skin made contact with the one particular fiber he had twisted into the piece of twine.
“You asked me to give you my word, Aspera Scyles, and now you have it.” His grin was menacing as her head lolled, but its threat had already been carried out. “My word for you is death.”
By the time he finished speaking, a hazy film had covered her eyes. With one hand he swiped the loose coins from her pocket while the other retrieved the pouch from her limp and quickly cooling hand.
Feeling generous, he left one gold coin on the table for the innkeeper’s trouble, and then he walked away, whistling.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Well past the hour most Veetrish girls were fast asleep, Rose struck her pillow again. But just like the first ten times she had assaulted its feathers, the sleep she longed for didn’t come. She wondered if she was ill, but a hand to her forehead found it to be neither hot nor cold.
Rose pressed her fingers to her temples and groaned, but just as she was about to roll over in an attempt to find a more comfortable position that might lure her body to rest, a faint, repetitive sound drew her to the window. Clouds hid the waxing moon and anything it might reveal, but as the sound grew louder, she recognized it. A horse! And one in quite a hurry, if the rhythm of the hoofbeats could be trusted.
A moment later her tutor was at her door. “Rose,” Koria whispered, “it’s time.”
Rose’s breath quickened with a ripple of fear, a quiet pulse of grief, and an impending sense of something that felt like . . . destiny. She pulled a dark riding costume from the wardrobe and slipped it over her head, pausing only long enough to allow Koria to help with the buttons. Next, she added sturdy boots. Her warmest cloak. The dagger she had spent such long hours learning how to send to its mark.
Grabbing her comb from where it sat beneath the mirrored chest, Rose paused at her reflection. It had been over two weeks since she and Koria had last trekked to the sulfur springs. Leaning in, she examined her scalp and eyebrows, relieved to find that the dye held firm. The blackened roots of her hair would not yet give away their ruse.
Rose gathered a few more items and placed them inside the already-stuffed saddlebags waiting at the foot of her bed. She had coiled her hair around her head before going to bed. All that was left was to put on her hat and mittens and . . . to say good-bye.
“Rose?” Accompanied by the slightest knock on her door, the smooth, mellow tenor of the duke’s voice caused her heart to clench. “Rose?” The duke’s voice came again. “Are you about?”
She took a deep breath and opened the door. “I’m ready.” But as soon as she met the duke’s glimmering gaze, she knew she wasn’t ready. Her lower lip quivered. She bit down to still it.
Lord Whittier reached for Rose and held her in his firm embrace for a long moment before he spoke in a strained voice, “Sir Gladiel is here.”
“Sir Gladiel?” Rose blinked, pulling back a bit. “But I thought—”
“Your uncle was detained.” Lord Whittier released her and moved to gather her bags. “We must hurry. Stanza is being saddled as we speak. Capricia and Gladiel await us in the entry hall. Come quickly now.”
“Rose?”
Rose turned to her tutor. Koria’s eyes were moist, as well.
“I’ll soon leave for Salderyn.” Koria had taken a position as a teacher at the Academy there. Her departure would coincide with that of her student. “Perhaps our paths will cross again.”
Rose couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight.
“Until then,” Koria said, embracing her, “be of good courage and remember that you are loved.”
Rose hastily wiped her eyes as she stepped back. “Thank you for all your patience with me over the years. I will miss you.” Before her emotions could betray her further, Rose turned and picked up one of her saddlebags. Without a word, Lord Whittier took the other and moved toward the wide, curving stair.
Each step seemed to be a mile, yet the two-story descent to the ground floor of Mirthan Hall was over much too quickly.
Rose left her saddlebag at the foot of the stairs and bobbed a curtsy. It had been years since she’d seen Sir Gladiel de Vonsar and, although his wavy black hair had turned all but white at the temples, she could easily recognize the knight by his unusual, bright green eyes.
“Hello, Sir Gladiel.”
“Rose?” The knight’s eyes widened as she approached. “My sword, but you’ve grown!”
“She recently passed her seventeenth birthday,” Lady Capricia’s voice quivered. “It hardly seems possible.”
“Seventeen already?” Gladiel shook his head and gave a little bow. “And may I wish you a belated happy birthday, Rose?”
“Thank you, Sir Gladiel.”
“Are you certain you cannot stay the night?” Capricia asked. “You could rest your horse, get a good breakfast . . .”
“We mustn’t tarry.” He turned to the duke. “We have reason to believe Rose’s whereabouts have been made known to the Cobelds. Mirthan Hall must be evacuated as soon as possible.”
Lord Whittier shook his head. “Cobelds have never crossed the bog.”
“They have already breached the bog. They’re on their way. Do not go back to bed. Wake the staff as soon as we’ve gone. You should be away by tomorrow at the latest.”
Lady Whittier gasped. “Leave Mirthan Hall?”
“Evacuate all of Glenhume if you can.”
Shock painted Lord Whittier’s skin a pale hue. “The rumors are true?”
Sir Gladiel nodded. “They’ve been given assistance, and, if our fears prove correct, motivation to move in this direction.”
Lord Whittier ground his teeth. “Mrs. Scyles.”
Rose flinched.
Gladiel nodded. “We don’t have direct proof that Mrs. Scyles betrayed Rose’s location before she died, but—”
“She’s . . . dead?” Rose swallowed.
“Yes,” Gladiel said. “It appears she was the victim of a Cobeld curse, but that is only speculation.” The knight’s brow narrowed. “We have to assume the worst and take all necessary precautions.”
“Why did no one send a messenger?” Lord Whittier’s voice was indignant.
“By the time the news filtered down to us, there wasn’t time. I came straightaway.”
“But Uncle Drinius said he would come.”
“And he would have, were he able,” Gladiel smiled. “Drinius is nursing a sprained ankle. We decided I could travel here more swiftly alone. I suspect he’ll be back to rights by the time we reach him.”
“We will all travel together, then?” Lady Whittier asked.
“No.” Gladiel turned to Lord Whittier. “You and your household are to go north to the Regent’s palace. Rose goes with me.”
Lady Capricia’s voice quavered. “Where will you take her?”
“For your protection and hers, I cannot divulge that information.” He turned his attention back to Rose and gestured to the bags Lord Whittier had set on the floor. “These are your things?”
Rose swallowed. “Yes.”
The knight gave a curt nod and then scooped up the bags as if they weighed little more than a pair of kittens. “I will give you a few moments, Rose. Then we must go.” He nodded to Lord Whittier. “I’ll be outside.” At that, he turned and went out the door.
Lady Whittier’s hand
flew to her mouth to cover the whimper that escaped as soon as the door closed behind Sir Gladiel.
“When the boys left, I gave them all a parting verse.” Lord Whittier’s voice was quiet and thick with emotion. “For you, it seems even more appropriate.” He took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out across his palm. But instead of falling to the floor, the glitter swirled up and around Rose in a spinning vortex of light as Lord Whittier quoted a verse of poetry. “The soul of love is wonder met, the heart of family true. And when you find a lonely day, may memories comfort you.”
Within the vortex, faces appeared. First, the Storyteller’s own, and then Lady Whittier and Koria. Finally, each of the boys blew Rose a glittering kiss. But as quickly as the vision had formed, it faded away.
“We love you, Rose,” Lord Whittier said, and Lady Whittier’s clutch on her hand confirmed it. “In our hearts, no matter what the future brings, you will always be Rose de Whittier, our daughter.”
Tears flowed without restraint as Lord Whittier pulled Rose and Lady Whittier into his arms for a final, long embrace.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Three days away from Mirthan Hall, Rose awoke missing the softness of her bed almost as much as she missed her family. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and groaned.
“It was a hard ride yesterday.” Sir Gladiel was already awake and stirring a pot hanging over the fire. “Stanza is a fine horse. Lord Whittier was wise to find you a competent mount. And you handle him well.”
“Thank you.” Rose had only had Stanza for a few weeks, but she was quite fond of the horse Lord Whittier had given her for her birthday. Stanza had been bred for both speed and endurance and he had demonstrated both traits these last few days.
Of course, little about the Veetrish landscape could be considered a hindrance to speed. Even covered with snow, the rolling hills and tree-dotted valleys were easily navigated. Each day they had ridden from dawn until several hours after the sun had set. Not once had they gone through a village. That, she assumed, was planned by Sir Gladiel, for she well knew that villages dotted the Veetrish countryside much like the sheep in a meadow they’d ridden through yesterday.
“The ride was the easy part,” she said. “I think the bed, however, could be improved by a thaw.”
“Indeed.” Sir Gladiel returned her smile as he reached for a mug and poured a thick brown liquid from the pot. He handed the mug to Rose.
“Thank you, Uncle Gladiel.” Rose ducked her head. “My apologies. I mean Sir Gladiel.” She laughed. “But I suppose I’ve often thought of you in that way.”
“I have no niece, but I certainly don’t object to the address.” He chuckled. “But just ‘Gladiel’ will suffice. We’ve no use for pesky formalities out here.”
“Very well. Gladiel it is.” She smiled and inhaled the aromatic steam coming up from the mug. “Mmm. What is this?”
“It’s called keola.”
“Kee-o-la.” She tried out the word. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s rare.” He said and took a sip from his own mug. “And expensive.” He chuckled. “Keola is imported from Eachan Isle.”
“The pirate island?” Rose’s eyebrows shot up. “It really exists?”
“As do the Seahorse pirates.” Gladiel nodded. “But of course you would know that. Your first sea voyage was aboard one of their ships.”
Rose frowned. “I’ve never been to sea.”
“Ah, but you have. The very day you were born. Did Drinius never mention it?”
“No. I’m fairly certain I would remember something like that! You’re certain?”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “I was there with you.”
Rose’s brow creased, but a smile soon erased that line. Her head tilted back. “Ha! Rowlen would squeal with envy if he knew I’d been aboard a real pirate ship!”
“Envious of an adventure you don’t even remember?”
“Hmm. That does present a bit of a problem.” Rose sighed. “It is rather tragic that I don’t remember. Pirates!” She shook her head in wonder. “And Seahorse pirates from Eachan Isle, no less.” She drummed her fingertips against the sides of the mug. “I can hardly believe it’s true.”
“Ah, but it is.”
“So you say. But you could tell me the pirate’s ship was, in fact, a chariot pulled by giant seahorses, as the legend insists, and I would have no context from which to argue.” She laughed, a deep but merry sound. “And now that I consider it, I do believe I like that version! Better yet, what if I came to be aboard their ship because I was a poor, orphaned mermaid who was plucked from the sea by great steeds of the deep? That would not only explain the mysterious circumstance of my birth,” she said as her gaze travelled to Stanza, nosing around in the snow beyond the fire, “but also why I have such a love for their land-locked brothers.”
Gladiel’s laugh deepened the crinkles time had dug around his eyes. “You may not have been born to it, but I do believe you are every bit as Veetrish as your accent implies.”
“I don’t have an accent. You have an accent.”
“Ah.” His eyes laughed above his mug. “I suppose I would have an accent to your ears. And you, dear girl, most certainly carry the lilt of the Veetrish brogue to mine. You may not be able to make the Story People dance from your palm as Lord Whittier does, but you certainly have a gift for drafting a dramatic tale.”
“Thank you.” Rose dipped her head in an abbreviated version of the bow she had so often seen her foster father and brother give upon the completion of a tale. “But you were saying? About the . . . koeelo?”
“Keola,” Gladiel corrected. “It is a mixture of dried beans, berries, and herbs that have been crushed into a fine powder. We steep the mixture in water, much like tea. You’ll find that it suits well as a filling breakfast without the need for bread.”
Rose took a tentative sip. The drink’s warmth soothed her throat, sore from breathing the cold night air. Its flavor was rich and sweet with a spicy aftertaste that teased her tongue. She took another sip. “It’s good!”
Sir Gladiel smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Many do not. My daughter, for one, absolutely hates it. But she drinks it every chance she gets.”
“Why, if it’s so costly and she doesn’t even like it?”
“Erielle wants nothing more than to be a knight. She hopes, in time, she’ll acclimate herself to it.”
“A knight?” Rose was torn between shock and admiration. “There are female knights?”
“Not in E’veria,” he said. “But Erielle argues the case at every turn. Drinking keola is just one of many ways she aims to prove that she’s as worthy of knighthood as her brothers.”
Rose tilted her head. “Your sons are knights?”
“Yes. They are both in Salderyn. Erielle is much younger.” The affection in his voice pinched a soft place in Rose’s heart. “She pines for them.”
“I know how she feels.” Rose took a long drink to soothe the tightness of her throat.
Gladiel’s smile was gentle. “I can’t tell you how thankful your father is that you found such a loving home in Veetri.”
The tender feelings vanished in an instant. “Of course you can’t.” Rose couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her tone. “You can’t tell me anything about him.”
“Rose, I—”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.”
But her feelings concerning her father had never been “fine.” They certainly were not “fine” right now, when she had been ordered to leave her family at Mirthan Hall and told to ride away with Sir Gladiel to who knows where.
Rose sat up straighter. Was she so used to her every move being dictated from afar that she hadn’t even questioned her destination?
“Where are we going?” Her lips pressed together. “Or is that another one of my father’s secrets?”
“We are going to Mynissbyr. Drinius is readying a home for you and his family in the Great Wood.”
Rose’s chin
dropped. “The Great Wood?”
“Yes.”
Rose remembered how Rowlen had described the mysterious creatures that inhabited the Great Wood of Mynissbyr. She suppressed a shiver. Soon she would live among them.
They started the horses at a walk to warm their muscles, but soon gave in to the restless animals’ desire for a hard gallop. As the morning wore on Rose realized they’d stopped riding uphill. Instead, they were on a continuous but gentle decline. As Gladiel had predicted, they reached the bog just as the sun reached its high point.
“Sir Gladiel?” Rose hated the quiver in her voice. “If the Cobelds are in the bog, do you think it wise to enter it?”
“They crossed at the Stoenian border. This location is too far west and too close to the Great Wood for their comfort. They may have dug up the courage to cross the bog, Rose, but I do not believe they are yet brave enough to dare the Great Wood of Mynissbyr. I doubt they ever will be.”
“And yet he thinks I’m brave enough to dare it?” Rose grumbled under her breath.
Gladiel turned. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing of consequence.”
Veetri’s pastoral ease had become gradually more populated with trees, but they were smaller specimens, and, in the dead of winter, seemed less healthy than the old oaks and giant sycamores that dotted Veetri’s hills and valleys. But even though the freeze stole the scenic value of the marshland, it made crossing the bog much less difficult than it would have been in warmer weather. Although the frost-hardened ground was pitted, Rose imagined it would be much easier for the horses to navigate it now than after the spring thaw.
“How long will it take us to cross the bog?” Rose asked.
“Normally, I would expect to spend four or five days trudging through,” Gladiel said. “But without the swampy hindrances of water and muck, we might cross the border into Mynissbyr in two days. Maybe three if we run into bad weather.”
Two days later, the Great Wood’s ancient evergreens rose in the distance like angry low clouds of a storm. A small, treeless plain, less than half a day’s ride across, was all that separated Rose and Gladiel from the Great Wood of Mynissbyr.