The Ryn (Eyes of E'veria)

by Serena Chase

  The way he asked was almost as if he wanted to argue, as if he knew her, at least on some level, but by a different name.

  “Yes.” Perhaps he was thinking of whoever he had mistaken her for on the night of his arrival. “Can you stand?”

  He gave a nod, retracted his knees, and pressed up to a standing position, using the tree for support. Rose and Lily moved to either side of the knight and together they trudged toward the Bear’s Rest.

  Once they had settled the exhausted knight in his bed, Lily went to retrieve the pitcher Rose had left by the stream and to see if her mother needed any assistance, leaving Rose and Sir Julien alone.

  They stared at each other for many long moments, until the space between his blinks seemed to herald that sleep would soon claim him.

  Rose swallowed. “Thank you for saving my life,” she whispered.

  His eyes opened again. “I’m glad to have gotten there in time.” His eyes closed, but he spoke. “Lady Drinius is your aunt?”

  “Yes.”

  Her answer seemed to trouble him, but his brow soon relaxed and she knew he was asleep.

  With Sir Julien comfortably situated, Rose moved to put another log on the fire. She glanced at the knight. His eyes were closed, but he reached for his left arm and winced when his hand touched the bandage.

  “It would seem I’ve acquired wounds with no memory of how they came to be,” he said.

  Heat prickled along Rose’s scalp. “You were quite ill when you arrived.” How could she admit the origin of that particular wound? Better to wait, she thought. Talk of something else.

  “What brought you to the Wood?” she asked, trying to avoid the topic of her guilt. “We don’t get many visitors.”

  “I was searching for my father. And . . . your uncle, as it turns out.”

  “You know my uncle?” Of course he did. He had already referred to Aunt Alaine by her title.

  “Indeed. I’ve known Sir Drinius all my life.”

  Rose hung the kettle above the fire. “And your father is . . . ?”

  “Gladiel de Vonsar.”

  If the kettle hadn’t already been attached to the spit, she would have dropped it in the flames.

  “Of course!” Rose silently called herself every kind of fool. “I should have known. Your eyes are the same green as his. Not that I’ve had the opportunity to see them open much, of course.” She turned around to find those emerald eyes upon her. “Now that you’re awake, however I—”

  Her voice stilled at the look on the knight’s face. “What is it, Sir Julien? Are you in pain?”

  His eyelids drooped. “I thought it was a dream.”

  “You thought what was a dream?”

  When he didn’t answer, Rose moved toward the bed. “Asleep again,” she whispered. A stray curl had fallen over his forehead. She brushed it back before it would have a chance to tickle his eyelashes open.

  Oh, but his hair was beautiful. She had not considered it such while she cared for him. In truth, she hadn’t considered it at all. But now that the fever had broken, now that she had spoken to him and learned his name . . . indeed, now that he had saved her life . . . she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before. Although it was matted from several days’ and nights’ tossing and turning and would benefit from a thorough washing, Sir Julien’s hair was a beautiful shade of burnished blond, almost as if one of Rynloeft’s messengers had dipped a comb in liquid gold and sent it through a baby Julien’s curls just as he entered the world.

  Her eyes traced the path of his strong jaw and tried to imagine what he might look like with less of that golden hair on his face. She stopped short of touching his face again, but her hand lingered just above his cheek for a long moment.

  Though she didn’t doubt his word, a part of her could hardly believe he was the Regent’s son. Whereas Gladiel’s eyes were widely set on a rectangular face with sharp angles, Julien’s strong chin was the rounded point of a gentler oval. His forehead was narrower than his black-haired father’s and his cheekbones were set at such an angle that she wondered if his cheeks would dimple when he smiled. Rose searched Julien’s face for a feature to betray his relation to Gladiel, but with his eyes closed there was none, save the impressive height and muscular build that had made it so difficult for her and Lily to transport him.

  As the events of the past few days, especially the last few hours, crowded in, fatigue descended upon Rose with the swiftness of a brass snuffer to a flame. With a sigh, Rose took off her boots and curled up in the chair to sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The crackling of the fire broke through Rose’s dreams. Without opening her eyes, she listened as another spark popped and the pieces of kindling shifted. It was a normal, homey, comforting sound. She reveled in its commonness until the crick in her neck intruded. Yawning, she stretched, savoring the warmth of not-quite-wakefulness.

  “Good morning, Lady Rose.”

  “Oh!” She startled violently at the deep voice. Her eyes flew open. “Ow.” Rose wrinkled her nose at the tightness in her neck. She rubbed at the sharp pain and, as the cramp released, she regained her composure. The light from the fire was stronger than that from the window. “It’s morning?”

  “Evening, actually.” At some point a second chair had been brought in and placed opposite hers and it was now occupied by Sir Julien. His smile had a hint of teasing at its corners. “But it’s the common phrase used when people awaken, so I thought it appropriate.”

  “Oh.” She tried to straighten in her chair, but groaned when the crick in her neck protested again. “Did you sleep well this afternoon?”

  “Better than you, I fear.” One corner of his mouth slid further up, but the beard was too thick on his cheeks to reveal a dimple. “I’m afraid, my lady, that you have not seen me at my chivalrous best.”

  Rose laughed and arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps chivalry is defined differently where you come from? You did, in fact, save my life.”

  He looked at the fire. “Had I roused but a moment or two later, however . . .” He shook his head. “May I ask how long I’ve been here?”

  “The days have run together a bit,” she admitted after a moment. “If I could wager a guess, I’d say four or five days.” She paused. “If I may be so bold, Sir Julien, what happened to you? When you arrived you mentioned Cobelds.”

  “Did I?” He ran a hand over his beard. “I don’t think I’ve run across any for a while. Well,” he sent another twinkling smile her way, “at least not since this afternoon.” He laughed. “It was probably the fever talking. I was already a bit ill when I ran into Dwonsil warriors near the Stoenian border. I managed to evade them and I wasn’t wounded. At least not then.” He paused, his right hand moving to the bandage on his arm. “But the weather certainly didn’t help me regain my health. I don’t remember much past getting into the Great Wood. I’m not at all sure how I made it to your door, other than the supreme intelligence of my horse.” He winced and pressed his hand against the wound.

  Rose’s breath caught. His pain was her doing. At least the pain that seemed to bother him the most. “Do you need medicine, Sir Julien?”

  “No, thank you. Not just now, in any case. It dulls my mind and I must have my wits about me to figure out what I shall do next.” He sighed as he poked at the log in the stove. “You say you’re Sir Drinius’s niece?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “I know him well, but I can’t say he’s mentioned having family in Veetri.”

  Rose felt a moment of fear for his mind. “Sir Julien, we’re not in Veetri. We’re in Mynissbyr.” Had he received a head injury they hadn’t noted? “This lodge is located in the Great Wood.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps you’re up and about too soon?”

  “Oh, I’m not quite that addled,” he said with a chuckle. “I only meant to remark that your accent is decidedly Veetrish, my lady. And I well know Sir Drinius hails from Stoen.”

  She sighed. “The Duke of Glenhume was my guardian u
ntil your father brought me to live in Mynissbyr.”

  “The Duke of Glenhume?” His eyes brightened. “Lord Whittier de Barden?”

  “Yes. Unless perchance you know of another Duke of Glenhume?” Rose teased. “I must say Lord Whittier will be quite shocked to hear of it, if ’tis so.”

  “I’ve never actually met the duke,” Sir Julien said with a smile. “But his eldest son is one of my closest friends.” He blinked. “Rose.” He whispered. “Rose. You’re that Rose? Kinley’s Rose?”

  “You know my brother?” Rose’s throat tightened. Oh, how she missed her Veetrish family! “And how is Kinley adjusting to the knight’s life in Salderyn? I’ve not seen him since just after my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Your . . . brother?”

  “Not by blood, of course. But certainly by affection.”

  “Oh.” Julien rested his elbows on the chair’s arms, his fingers tented at his waist. His brow furrowed and his index fingers tapped together a few times.

  “Sir Julien?”

  He looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. You asked after Kinley.”

  She nodded.

  “He was quite well the last time I spoke with him. But it’s been months, I’m afraid, since I’ve been to the capital.” Sir Julien took a deep breath. “I was sent to find news of my father and Sir Drinius. They came this way last summer on a mission of utmost secrecy and were expected back in Salderyn before the harvest. I’ve searched for them for five months, chasing rumors as fruitless as the wind.” He sighed heavily.

  “Do you think they are still alive?” Rose’s eyes stung.

  “I dearly hope so.” He took a deep breath. “Cobelds have infiltrated nearly every area of the Kingdom since the clans of Dwons have rallied to their cause. The legends of the Wood have kept the Cobelds at bay for a long time, but this afternoon proves that security false.”

  “So much about our knowledge of them is false!” Rose was suddenly incensed. “The Storytellers make the Cobelds out to be grotesque, fearsome creatures. I’d always believed they were monsters. Hideous and gruesome! I was certainly not expecting someone’s grandfather to try and kill me!”

  “It’s a common misconception.” Julien nodded gravely. “The legends confuse the design of their hearts with their physical appearance.”

  “Well, they shouldn’t! It’s dangerous. How many other people have been deceived by what seems to be an innocuous old man?”

  “Too many.”

  His words were sobering. Rose worried the edge of one thumb against the other. “It’s bad, isn’t it, in the rest of the Kingdom?”

  Julien nodded. “It is.”

  He gazed at the fire and then at his boots on the floor beside it. Suddenly, he looked up. “The King entrusted me with a message for Sir Drinius’s wife should I be unable to locate his knights. In all the excitement of the day, I nearly forgot my duty.”

  “Shall I call her for you?” Rose asked.

  The knight took a breath as if to speak, then paused. “In a moment, perhaps.” He met her eyes as if carefully measuring his words before he let them free. Finally, he spoke.

  “Lady Rose, what can you tell me of your connection to King Jarryn?”

  “My what?” She laughed and wrinkled her nose. “I have no connection to the King. I’ve never even met him.” She paused. “Of course, my father is a knight. Perhaps the King knows my father.”

  Julien’s eyebrows rose. “Your father is a knight, you say? What is his name?”

  Rose squirmed in her chair. “I don’t actually know.”

  “Hmm.” Julien nodded, but his eyes searched her face with an intensity that brought heat to her cheeks. “I don’t mean to offend, but might I ask your age?”

  “Is that an offensive question?”

  “Not to me, but I’ve been told some ladies can be sensitive to it.”

  “Well, I’m not an old maid quite yet,” she said and gave him a lopsided grin, “so I take no offense. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “Ah. You’re Gladiel’s eldest, then?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ve a birthday coming in just over a month and I’ll mark my nineteenth year upon it,” she said. “So I suppose I’m closer to that mark than the other.”

  “Nineteen.” The knight’s eyes slid shut. “Next month.”

  Rose almost feared he had fallen into unconsciousness again, but finally he spoke.

  “The night I arrived at your door,” he began softly, “I was very ill and mostly out of my head. I am not of a superstitious nature, Lady Rose, but when I first saw you I was certain I was seeing a ghost.”

  “You did ask me if you were dead,” she gave him a half smile. “I can’t say as I’ve ever been asked that before.”

  “It all makes sense now.” Excitement danced in his eyes. “Of course the Cobeld would want you dead!” Sir Julien rubbed his bearded chin and then leaned forward, meaning to rest his forearms on his thighs, but a wince reminded them both of his wound. As he reclined back in the chair, his gaze intensified. “It’s no wonder that the King is concerned for your well-being. You are very nearly the image of his dead wife, Queen Daithia. And, as such, the Cobelds’ most feared adversary.”

  “You jest, sir.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I do not.”

  “So because I look like the dead queen, I’m the enemy? That’s even more absurd than Drinius and Gladiel believing I’m in danger because I look like a character from an ancient poem.”

  “They told you that?”

  “Yes. They said the Cobelds make a habit of killing girls with red hair. They believe the poem’s a prophecy or some other such nonsense.” She paused. “Did the queen have red hair?”

  “Yes. Quite like yours.”

  “And she died in childbirth, didn’t she? Just like . . . my mother.”

  “Yes.” Julien nodded slowly as if willing her to understand his implication.

  And she did glean his meaning. But it was an insane supposition.

  Wasn’t it?

  Her voice came out as a whisper. “But everyone knows the Queen’s baby died with her.”

  “That is what we have believed these past nineteen years, yes.” She didn’t miss the way he emphasized the number. “But now I must admit a certain curiosity.”

  Rose barked a laugh and quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed.

  “I was only eight years old when Queen Daithia died,” Julien said, “but I remember her well. She was very dear to me. But even if I did not recall her face, her portraits hang in Castle Rynwyk in Salderyn, as well as in Holiday Palace in Port Dyn. And the likeness you bear the Queen is quite remarkable. For all these years I’ve believed—” He drew in a sudden, quick breath. “It is of utmost importance that I deliver the King’s message to Lady Drinius.”

  Rose stood. “I’ll summon her. I—”

  Rose jumped when a sound came from the direction of the door, but it wasn’t the sound that had startled her, it was the flash of light—or was it color?—that followed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Julien attempted to rise as Aunt Alaine entered, but she stopped him. “You’ll have plenty of opportunity for that when you’re well.”

  “Lady Drinius, I have a message for you,” Sir Julien said. “From the King.”

  Aunt Alaine’s hand fluttered to her chest, her gaze flicking to Rose and then back to the knight.

  Rose fought dizziness as she moved from the chair, but she only made it as far as the edge of the bed. She sat heavily upon it.

  Alaine took her vacated chair. “Julien de Gladiel. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, but not so long that I shouldn’t have recognized you, even with that excess of fur on your face.” She shook her head. “Now, what is this about a message? What news is so urgent that you should nearly die to deliver it?” Her hand moved to her chest again and her voice fell to a whisper. “Is it about Drinius?”

  “I don’t know. But neither do
I know where your husband and my father have been these last months.” Julien said.

  “Where is the missive?”

  “Between the soles of my right boot.” Julien reached for the boot and used the fire poker to pry the leather loose. “I have not read it, nor could I even if I had tried. It was written in code in case it was taken from my person. The King said you would be able to read it.” He removed the sole of the boot, withdrew an oilcloth that held a piece of parchment, and handed it to Alaine.

  As she opened it, her eyes misted. “Yes,” she said softly, “I can read this.” Turning her eyes to Rose she said, “When your father and Drinius courted your mother and I they devised a code to send us secret messages. Love letters, as it were.” Color dotted the apples of Alaine’s cheeks. She sighed. “It has been a long time, but I think I can decipher this.”

  Giving the parchment her full concentration, she read through the message, resting her eyes for a moment before turning to Rose.

  “Rose,” she said as she looked up, “your uncle, Sir Gladiel, and I have shielded you from the past—and from the future—for as long as we could. It’s time you know the truth.” She gave a pained little laugh. “But I find I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “If I may be so bold, Lady Drinius,” Sir Julien said softly, “perhaps a direct approach would be best.”

  After taking a deep breath Alaine sat up straighter. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes filled and her hand lifted to her lips.

  Rose glanced over at Julien to find his eyes locked on her face. His jaw was set, his gaze intent upon her. Then, without the slightest movement of his mouth, the light of a smile brightened his eyes, encompassing every degree of that expression within their sparkling emerald depths. Suddenly, the smile parted his lips, imbuing his face with so many emotions that she couldn’t pinpoint just one.

  Heat spread up the back of her neck, accompanied by a strange sort of comfort she could not define.

  “As you know, your mother was an orphan, adopted by my parents when she was small,” Lady Drinius said, stealing Rose’s attention from the knight. “What you don’t know, is that shortly after she married your father, she became Queen.”