by Serena Chase
“The Storyteller is Rowlen de Whittier?” Julien ran his hand over my head and under my jaw to lift my chin. “He certainly doesn’t resemble Kinley.”
“Their eyes are the same.”
“The rose,” Julien whispered as understanding dawned. “That was for you.”
I nodded.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t protect you if I’m not with you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I reached into Stanza’s watering trough and splashed some of its cold water on my face, knowing my eyes were swollen and my face was most likely red and blotchy from tears. I handed Julien back his tunic and dried my face with my sleeve. He withdrew my spectacles from his pocket and placed them on my face.
“It really is a convincing disguise.” He frowned. “You look nothing like yourself.” He shook his head. “How did he recognize you, dressed as you?”
“Remember when I told you about the ebonswarth powder?”
He nodded.
“My hair was black in Veetri. Without the spectacles, the only thing about my appearance that would strike Rowlen as odd would be my clothing. The orange rose was his way of saying he knew the real me.”
“He knows about you?”
“He knows about my hair, nothing more. The dye washed out once when we were young. It was my first swimming lesson. Rowlen was my teacher. No one else saw.”
“You and Rowlen were quite close, I gather?”
I nodded.
Julien rubbed his beard. “Do you think he will seek you out?”
I thought about it for a moment. “If he saw me leave, then I’m surprised he’s still indoors.”
“Let’s get you inside,” he said. “I will speak to Rowlen after his performance. Perhaps I can arrange a way for you to see him.”
“Truly?” I clasped my hands together in an entirely unsquire-like way.
Julien’s chuckle warmed me better than his cloak. “I will try.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I nearly wore a path in the floor of my room as I waited for the Storyteller’s performance to end. It was excruciating. Intermittent bouts of raucous laughter and thunderous applause came up through the floorboards from the crowded dining room below. I wished I could see Rowlen’s performance. His skill had improved so much by my sixteenth birthday party that I could only imagine how much more amazing it would be to watch him now.
Finally, Julien and Erielle returned, but Rowlen was not with them. I tried to quell my disappointment as Erielle, her face alight with pleasure from the entertainment, chastised me for missing the Storyteller’s performance. When Julien explained my absence, however, she apologized.
“Oh, that’s awful, Rynnaia. If you need to talk . . .”
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. You go on to bed. I’ll be there . . . in a bit.”
Erielle had just shut the door between our room and her brother’s when a firm knock sounded on Julien’s door.
“That would be Rowlen.” Julien smiled at me and opened the door.
My brother’s face no longer bore the jovial smile of a Storyteller. It was, instead, set with an unveiled hostility of which I’d never seen the like. Before Julien had fastened the lock on the door, Rowlen strode to my side.
“Is this knight your husband?”
I opened my mouth in surprise only to snap it shut again before speaking. “No! Of course not!”
He spun around. “You dare to sully my sister’s honor?”
“No, I do not.”
“It does not flatter the King when one of his knights dallies with the affections of a maid and convinces her to share his bedchamber!” Rowlen’s voice was low and laced with deadly menace, “I demand you explain yourself!”
“Rowlen, I—”
“Quiet, Rose!” Rowlen’s hand slashed the air. “I will handle this.”
Julien leaned against the doorframe, seeming quite relaxed, even slightly amused. “I think you may be surprised when you learn the truth of our arrangement.”
“Your arrangement?” Rowlen hissed. “This lady is considered a daughter of the Duke of Glenhume and is under his protection whether she dwells beneath his roof or not!”
Rowlen put an arm around my shoulder. His voice was tight, but gentler as he addressed me. “Gather your things, Rose. We’re leaving.” The tone of his command was firm enough and the angry fire in his eyes so compelling that I started to move toward the door where my saddlebags, and Erielle, rested.
Julien cleared his throat, drawing my eyes to his face. He tilted his head, a bemused smile dancing upon his face. I bit the corner of my lip, unsure of what to do.
Rowlen squeezed my shoulder. “Now, Rose.”
“Calm yourself, Storyteller.” Julien’s amusement at my discomfiture was hardly masked by his tone. “The lady will not be leaving these rooms again tonight.”
“My sister,” Rowlen growled, “will not be disgraced!”
“I should say not,” Julien chuckled and turned his gaze to me. “Would you care to explain our arrangement to your most protective brother before that vein in his forehead explodes?”
“All of it?”
“Is he trustworthy?”
I nodded.
Julien’s voice lowered even more, “Speak quietly then, Princess. These walls are thin.”
“Princess?” Rowlen sputtered, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “A vain endearment, spoken by an errant knave! The King shall hear of this!”
“Hmm,” Julien mused with a subtle nod, “I suppose he shall.”
At that, I giggled. Rowlen shot me a look, but I had already removed the squire’s cap and was disengaging the pins that secured the hairpiece to my head. “I’ve no doubt the King would approve of Sir Julien’s behavior,” I said.
“Then you do not know the King.”
“Not yet,” I admitted, pulling the hairpiece free. “But I don’t think I can put it off forever. He is, after all, my father.”
“He’s your . . . father?” Rowlen blinked.
I nodded. “I know it’s hard to believe, but—”
“No, it’s not.” He shook his head and the beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. “Not at all. In fact, it makes perfect sense.” He laughed, but the sound was strained as he turned to Julien. “That’s why you called her Princess.”
Julien smiled and gave a nod.
Rowlen shook his head. “Honestly, Rose. This is—”
“My name isn’t Rose.”
“Oh,” he said, tilting his head. “Well, of course not. So what is it?”
“Rynnaia,” I whispered. “Rynnaia E’veri.”
We stood for a moment, staring at each other. Finally, Rowlen waggled his eyebrows. “My sister’s a princess,” he whispered. I jumped when he tilted his head back and let out a shout of laughter.
Rowlen pulled me into a hug and spun a circle, squeezing me so tightly that I feared my ribs would bruise. When he released me, he put an arm around my shoulder and turned to Julien.
“You have my apologies, Sir Julien.” His smile faded. “I do, however, still question the propriety of the sleeping arrangements.”
The door to Erielle’s adjoining room creaked and she stepped through, still dressed in Erril’s clothes, but looking completely feminine with her blond hair streaming down her back. “I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, “but perhaps I can help to ease your mind, Master Rowlen.”
For the first time since we’d met, I saw Erielle de Gladiel blush.
“I’ve been traveling with Rozen. Er, Rose, I mean.” The color of her cheeks deepened, “Ah . . . the princess, rather. As a chaperone of sorts. She’ll sleep in the other room. With me,” she explained. “My brother is an honorable knight, Master Rowlen. He would never do anything to damage her reputation.”
“My lady,” Rowlen stepped forward, reached for Erielle’s hand, and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. “You do me and the entire Dukedom of Glenhume a great service. I thank you.” Erielle’s eyes could have
rivaled a new ball of yarn for size by the time he arose from the deep bow he gave her.
Julien stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Master Rowlen de Whittier.” Was he gritting his teeth? “May I present my sister, Erielle de Gladiel?”
“You are the Regent’s daughter? From Mynissbyr?” Rowlen ignored Julien.
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Erielle.” Julien interrupted any further conversation between our siblings. I couldn’t help but note the color that had crept up his neck. “We appreciate your help in clarifying the situation, but your presence is no longer required. Try to get some sleep, now. We must be off early in the morning.”
I couldn’t suppress a giggle. The bounds of brotherly protection had been crossed again.
Rowlen kissed Erielle’s hand again. “Goodnight, Lady Erielle.”
“Goodnight, Master Rowlen. Goodnight, Rozen—er, Princess.” Without a word to her brother, she went back to our room.
As soon as the door closed, Rowlen turned to me. “All right, Rose. Tell me everything.”
I sighed. “We may as well sit down.” I moved to a chair by the fire. “This could take awhile.”
I explained to Rowlen all that I had learned in the past few weeks: the letter from my father, the release of my Andoven abilities, and what I had seen in Lady Anya’s poetry. He was captivated by my story, and even though he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of me traveling cross-country with only a young girl as a chaperone, he was at last satisfied that I was in no danger of losing my virtue.
“People see what they expect to see.” He winked. “Unless, of course, they are watching one of my stories for the first time.” He laughed, but held a question in his eyes. “And that brings me to another question. Did you destroy my rose?”
“Did I what?”
“When I saw you downstairs you took me by surprise. It must have triggered the appearance of the rose and then it—well, it exploded! I wasn’t intending to make it in the first place but sometimes my thoughts just take on a life of their own.”
Rowlen held his hands out to his sides and shrugged. I giggled when a tiny trail of shimmer fell from his fingertips. He smiled. “You see? Like that. So, did you do it?” He asked. “Did you destroy my rose?”
“How could I?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t have the Storyteller’s Gift.”
Rowlen tilted his head. “But you are at least part Andoven.” He made a face. “And I know I didn’t do it. Nothing like that has ever happened before. It almost upended my performance!”
“Well, don’t ask me to explain it, Rowlen.” I rolled my eyes, secretly enjoying the feeling of being involved in a sibling spat again, even if it wasn’t an argument I could win. “Oh! Erielle called you Master Rowlen, didn’t she?” The title was one of great significance in Veetri. “You’ve completed your apprenticeship, then?”
“Yes. And my time traveling with the guild. Almost a year ago.”
“So soon?”
“I bribed the examiner.”
“Rowlen de Whittier!” I gasped and smacked his shoulder. “You did not!”
“Ow! No, I didn’t.” He laughed. “But I may have considered it once or twice. The examinations were quite rigorous. Only one other apprentice made it through with me.”
“I want to hear all about it.”
It was late when we said our good-byes, and I did not try to hide my tears. Rowlen’s eyes were moist as well, but as he left, he kissed my forehead.
“I travel widely, Rose. Er, Rynnaia.” He shook his head. “That will take some getting used to! But I’m sure our paths will cross again soon. And someday, after you’ve completed your quest and E’veria is allowed to finally love her princess, I will spread the most wonderful tales about our brave and beautiful future Queen, who traipsed through the countryside disguised as a lowly squire. Until then.” He held out his hand and offered me a daisy.
When I reached for the flower, it disappeared.
“Still falling for my oldest tricks.” Rowlen tsked and shook his head. “I love you, Rose.”
I didn’t correct him. “I love you, too.”
After he gave me one last, lingering embrace he left. And I was left wondering at his confidence that I would, in fact, complete the quest assigned me by that pesky prophetic poem.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Do you smell it, Rozen?” Erielle called from behind me. Even on Dynwey Road, we’d kept our original formation in the days since leaving the inn.
I took a deep breath in through my nose. An unfamiliar scent floated on the southerly breeze. “What is it?”
Erielle inhaled loudly enough that I could hear the breath. “That, my dear squire, is the beautiful scent of the Southern Sea!”
We hadn’t passed another company of travelers for a good hour. Although the lack of people gave me cause to wonder about enemy activity in the area, it did help to relax our conversation.
“My sister has more than a passing fondness for the sea,” Julien chuckled. “If it was up to her, we’d leave the Great Wood behind and live upon a ship.”
“Not true,” she argued. “I’d be quite content living in Holiday Palace by the sea and taking the occasional months’-long excursion.” She closed her eyes and took another deep breath through her nose. The look on her face was one of rapture.
“Indeed,” Julien laughed. Turning back to me, he pointed ahead. “You see that hill? Port Dyn is just beyond it.”
Finally. In the week since we had left Rowlen at the inn, the road had seemed to stretch, each day a bit longer than the last. But at last, we were almost there.
By late morning we had entered the bustling city. Skin in every shade met my eyes and unfamiliar lilts of tongue caressed my ears in a mad cacophony of sound as we neared the docks. I’d never been in a city before. I found it fascinating—and a little bit frightening.
Looking eastward along the coast, my eyes trailed upward to a bright, white-stone palace sitting atop a cliff. Flags of moss green and white waved from each of the numerous turreted towers, catching the breeze off the sea, waving, as if welcoming me home.
Holiday Palace, I thought. That’s where I was born.
The structure was immense, yet graceful. Grand, and yet somehow inviting. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.” Julien nodded. “You’ll not find a more stunning example of architectural vision anywhere in E’veria.”
As entranced by the palace as I was, Port Dyn soon stole my attention. I’d never seen so many buildings so close together or so many people of such diverse appearance. It was an amazing place with conveniences of which I’d never dreamed. Every corner found a new sort of shop to capture my fancy. Bakeries, butcheries, millineries, and dress shops were plentiful, as were shops dedicated to sweets, jewelry, and other luxuries. One shop we passed seemed to specialize in soap. Soap! I couldn’t imagine such a thing! But the mixed perfumes that greeted my nose birthed a desire to darken its door as soon as possible.
“I will send Erielle on to the palace with Rylin, Alek, and the horses,” Julien said as he dismounted. We’d discussed this before, so it wasn’t news to me, but as I slid from Stanza’s back my heart clenched a bit at the thought of being away from my new friends, let alone Stanza and Salvador. But they were not to accompany us to Tirandov Isle and, as soon as Julien could arrange for a guide and passage, we would depart.
We said our good-byes, restrained as they were since I was still playing the part of Sir Julien’s squire, and then Julien and I walked to a pleasant-looking inn and he arranged for a suite of rooms.
Our suite was a wonder. Luxurious and secure, Julien explained that it was reserved for visiting dignitaries and members of the E’verian nobility who had not made arrangements to stay at Holiday Palace. A sitting room divided the bedrooms and each bedroom had its own separate bathing chamber. I was disappointed that it lacked Ayden’s inventive tub-filling apparatus, but Julien assured me a bath would be drawn for me posthaste. A procession
of maids soon had tubs filled in both our chambers and when they finally finished the chore, Julien locked the door and turned his warm, relaxed smile on me.
“Wait here.”
He hurried into his chamber. When he came back, he held a piece of fabric, tightly rolled and tied with twine. The color was a feminine shade of lavender, the texture of the fabric familiar. “Is that . . . mine?”
He nodded. “I thought perhaps you were ready to be done with Rozen for a while.” He smiled. “I had your aunt choose a dress to pack among my things before we left Fyrlean Manor.”
“Thank you.” My eyes misted. “It’s one of my favorites. That was very kind of you.”
“This inn is secure and a guard detail is always assigned to the rooms when nobility visits, so you will be well guarded. After I’ve bathed I have a few errands I need to attend. Will you be all right?”
I nodded. Even though I would be locked in a suite with guards outside the door, I couldn’t deny the appeal of a few moments of solitude.
“I won’t be gone long. If there is a knock, ignore it. I’ve alerted the staff that you are not to be disturbed.”
As I took the dress from his hands I was almost giddy at the prospect of becoming a girl again.
In my chamber, I unrolled the dress, touched to find several sprigs of dried lavender and rosemary tucked within the folds of material. I had expected my dress to be full of mustiness and the scent of horses, but instead it smelled almost freshly laundered and slightly perfumed.
Although it had been necessary to alter my boyish clothes, I did not realize exactly how much my body had been altered during our journey until I put on my dress. The sleeves were uncomfortably tight where my arm muscles had developed, but the lower part of the bodice and the waist hung loosely on my leaner frame.
When Julien returned, I asked after his errands.
“I took the liberty of asking a local dressmaker to come here for a fitting. You’ll have need of a few more items before we leave for Tirandov Isle.” His brow furrowed. “You should probably wear the hairpiece, however. It won’t do to have rumors of Queen Daithia’s look-alike creeping up all over town. Especially since the King is still at Castle Rynwyk in Salderyn and unable to answer them.”