Sword's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  She woke with a start at the gentle knock at the door.

  Damn, she’d dozed off.

  Cera hastily bid Petra to enter with her meal, smiling at the undisguised glare the young maid threw at her wolf for his location on the bed, but Petra said nothing.

  “Will that be all, milady?” The girl’s eyes were glued to Trikser.

  Cera chuckled, and Petra blushed when they made eye contact. “Yes, thank you.”

  The maid curtsied, a smile on her face. Pink cheeks made her even more charming.

  “Oh, Petra?”

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Can you please see that I’m informed as soon as the king returns?”

  “Of course, my lady.” Petra bowed again.

  “Thank you.”

  “If you have need of me, please let me know.”

  “I’ll be fine for the evening, but thank you. I don’t plan on venturing from my room.”

  The girl excused herself, closing the door.

  Cera sighed.

  Why didn’t she feel better now that she was back in civilization?

  Her mind drifted to how it’d been when she’d been hiding from Varthan.

  Although Cera had been on the run, being away from people had been nice.

  It was still hard to believe he was gone.

  Shaking her head, she ate, pushing the dark thoughts away, and tried to look forward to a good night’s sleep.

  As with her last several meals, she didn’t taste the food. Cera answered the demand of her body with no enjoyment.

  Trikser whined and went to the door of her room, wagging his tail hard.

  Cera laid the fork on her tray, freezing.

  Her heart thundered at the footsteps in the corridor.

  Jorrin was at her door.

  She steeled herself for the knock that never came.

  Biting her lip, she hovered on the brink of tears.

  Should she be hurt or relieved the footsteps retreated?

  When will this all stop?

  ****

  “I’ll not marry him!” Cera burst into the king’s ledger room.

  Sir Willum Maron had refused her entry.

  He rushed in behind her, immediately apologizing to King Nathal.

  Tristan Dagget stood next to the king as they studied a long piece of parchment.

  Heat seared her cheeks as King Nathal looked up, exasperation evident in his pale gaze.

  Tristan’s hazel eyes were wide, his mouth half agape.

  Cera grimaced and glanced at Sir Maron in silent apology.

  He’d been telling the truth when he’d said King Nathal was busy.

  It’d taken the king two days to return to Castle Rowan.

  Two days that only served to make her simmer.

  Two days of excruciating pain and devising clever ways to avoid Jorrin.

  She’d convinced herself the king was avoiding her, since Cera had sent word to him seeking an audience first thing that morning. She’d waited patiently all day for a call that never came, so she’d taken matters into her own hands.

  “I’m sorry, your Majesty,” the knight repeated, bowing.

  “It’s all right, Willum. Obviously, you had no choice,” King Nathal told him, but his eyes were locked onto hers.

  Cera’s cheeks burned even more; she looked down.

  “Have a seat, Cera. Tristan, please excuse Lady Ryhan.” The king looked at Tristan and then back at her pointedly, “Though this shouldn’t take too long, I’ve already taken up too much of your day working. We will resume in the morning.”

  She winced at his emphasis.

  “Of course, your Highness.” Tristan bowed and flashed a reassuring smile when Cera met his eyes.

  Cera averted her gaze from the young lord. Her cheeks were even hotter. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

  He shook his head and left the room.

  Sir Maron was not far behind, closing the door without a sound.

  She met the king’s eyes.

  His arms were crossed over his chest, head cocked to one side. He stared. “Now, what is this nonsense, lass?” His tone was unyielding.

  “I will not marry Jorrin.” She sat taller in the chair.

  “Blessed Spirit, you are Falor Ryhan’s daughter.” King Nathal threw his hands up. “I’ve never met such a stubborn lass in my entire life. Just like your da . . .” He shook his head before meeting her gaze again. His tawny hair danced across his impossibly broad shoulders.

  “I won’t marry him,” Cera repeated, crossing her arms over her breasts.

  “Why not, lass? I know you love him and he loves you.” King Nathal’s expression softened.

  Cera blinked to clear her vision.

  I will not cry.

  “I won’t marry to gain something that should’ve been mine in the first place.” She straightened her chin and looked him in the eye.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Greenwald. It should’ve been mine. It was what my father wished.”

  “Didn’t Jorrin tell you?” The king sounded exasperated again.

  “Tell me what?”

  “That Greenwald is yours—whether you marry him or not.”

  Cera stared.

  No.

  Her heart sank.

  Jorrin hadn’t told her that.

  But had she really given him the chance?

  She hadn’t listened, even when he’d begged her to do so.

  No.

  Oh no.

  She’d been so awful to him.

  Tears welled and started down her cheeks before Cera could stop them.

  “Ah, lass, don’t cry.”

  “I thought he wanted Greenwald, and not me . . .” She wiped her cheeks.

  “The lad said you might think that.”

  “He did?” Cera sniffled loudly and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

  The king flashed a half-smile and tried to hand her a white silk handkerchief he’d pulled from one of his desk drawers, but Cera shook her head and King Nathal set it down on his desk. “Aye, he worried about it.” He sucked in a breath, his massive chest rising. “I handled this wrong. I should’ve talked to you first, but the lad . . . I know how unfamiliar this is for him. I wanted him to know my reasons and plans, to give him a chance to get his bearings. Honestly, I didn’t give him a chance to say nay to any of it. I didn’t think you’d object to him, lass. It’s obvious you love the lad. I owe it to your father to see that you’re happy. I thought I was doing that, he’s a good, decent lad. He’ll make a fine duke.”

  Cera leaned across the oversized desk and reached for the king’s hand. She touched his rough calloused skin and thought of her father. She smiled as he squeezed hers in comfort. “I’m the one who handled it wrong, Majesty,” she whispered. “I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. The things I said . . .” her voice broke, and tears coursed down her cheeks again.

  King Nathal wiped the tears from her cheek with one of his huge hands.

  The corner of her mouth lifted; she was startled someone of his size could be so gentle. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to speak to me again, King Nathal.”

  “I doubt that, lass. He loves you.”

  “I said some awful things,” Cera admitted. Shame heated her neck and cheeks.

  “Apologize. I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”

  Standing, she wiped the rest of her tears away and nodded.

  Cera turned to go.

  “Where are you off to, lass?”

  “To go convince Jorrin he’s the only one who can make me happy . . . under order of the king.”

  Cera flashed a smile at King Nathal’s bark of laughter.

  “And, to grovel.” She winced.

  “Then off with you.”

  “Thank you, King Nathal,” she whispered.

  He lifted his brows in silent question.

  Her hear
t thundered as Cera reached for the door handle.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Gone? What do you mean gone?” Cera’s voice raised an octave with each word.

  The young maid shrank away from her.

  Cera winced. She hadn’t meant to intimidate the girl.

  Trikser bristled at her side, growling, so that didn’t help matters, but she wanted to know where Jorrin.

  Now.

  “I saw Lord Aldern leave.” The maid studied her shoes.

  No. I can’t be too late.

  She closed her eyes as her heart dropped to her stomach. She hadn’t trusted Jorrin enough to listen to him.

  It was all her fault.

  Her chest constricted, and she swallowed back a sob.

  Cera ignored Trikser as he whimpered and nudged her hand.

  No.

  He’d left because of how awful she’d been to him.

  Cera wouldn’t get a chance to tell him what a fool she was . . . tell him that she loved him and she’d be honored to be his wife . . . his Duchess of Greenwald.

  How could Jorrin have left her?

  Serves you right.

  “When did he leave?” Cera demanded.

  She’d been behaving abhorrently to all of King Nathal’s servants.

  Wouldn’t be surprised if they all thought she was becoming one of the bossy, shrewish ladies she despised. They were probably all whispering horrible things about her.

  She’d never treated any servants this badly in the past.

  “Several hours ago, milady.”

  Cera had been looking for Jorrin everywhere. When she’d left the king’s ledger room, she’d gone to his room. Jorrin wasn’t there, so she’d sought out anyone and everyone to ask if he’d been seen.

  This maid was the first who had seen him.

  She growled, and the maid’s eyes widened.

  Trikser, still standing behind her, also growled and the maid took an involuntary step back.

  “I’m sorry,” Cera said after forcing a deep breath.

  Calm down.

  She chanted it, as well as thought-sent to her bondmate.

  Trik’s hackles were raised down the length of his spine.

  Cera needed to control herself, for both their sakes.

  The maid nodded, but her eyes didn’t leave Cera’s bondmate.

  “Cera?” a female voice distracted her and she whirled away from the young maid.

  Tears burned her eyes, threatening to spill over yet again.

  Taking the chance to escape, the maid shirked away, but Cera made no to move to stop her.

  Aimil strode toward her, dressed in a beautiful dark blue gown, simple yet elegant, the color usually representing South Ascova. She had a friendly smile on her face until she saw Cera’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

  Her tears cascaded, and Cera wiped them away.

  Trikser whined and bumped her hand with his nose.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, patting the wolf’s head and meeting her friend’s concerned gaze.

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Cera’s voice was shaky.

  I have to be fine.

  She’d have to find some way to get over Jorrin.

  Her heart throbbed as more tears welled and spilled.

  “It doesn’t seem so,” Aimil whispered, stepping forward to hug her.

  Cera wrapped her arms around her friend as a sob she couldn’t swallow escaped.

  When she could compose herself, Cera pulled away from the other girl and wiped the tears from her face. Again. “I’ve made a mess of things, and now it’s too late to fix it.”

  “Tell me what happened.” Aimil’s tone was a gentle order.

  “Not here,” she said. “We’ll go to my room.”

  Cera wanted to plop on the large bed and sob until she couldn’t anymore. She sat on the edge instead, Trikser jumping up and lying at its center as if he owned it.

  Aimil gave a small laugh and Cera managed a half-smile at her bond.

  “Where’s Isair?”

  “I left her at the barracks. I only came up to the castle to see Tristan.”

  “Tristan Dagget?”

  Her friend nodded, a softness in her expression that made things click in Cera’s mind. Her fellow Senior Rider had been betrothed since she was a baby.

  The two families had signed an agreement upon Aimil’s birth. Her friend never really talked about the situation, or the man.

  She’d accepted her duty as the daughter of a duke, and still had two more turns until they would marry, when Aimil turned twenty.

  Why hadn’t Cera realized her friend’s husband-to-be was someone she knew and liked?

  She had no idea Aimil had a fondness for him.

  Cera liked the healer very much. He’d be good for her friend. They were both gentle souls. Sweet. “Are you happy?”

  “Yes, I love him. I have for some time.” Aimil’s face lit up, her dark eyes shining as she talked about her love. “I’m sorry I never told you and Ansley. I wasn’t hiding him or anything. Things moved fast when we started spending time together, and you or Ansley were always gone, or I was. I wanted to tell you together, and then, well . . .” What she left unsaid was that Varthan had happened. Aimil winced.

  Cera grabbed her hand and squeezed. “It’s all right.” She smiled, trying to ignore envy and heartache. She didn’t want to think about Varthan or losing her family, but then, she didn’t want to think about Jorrin, either.

  “Shouldn’t you be happy, too? Tristan told me I missed quite a bit during the feast the other night. You’re betrothed now, too, right? I was hoping to meet the new Lord Aldern today. I was on a run with some new recruits, or I would’ve been here the other night. I’m sorry I missed it—” Aimil trailed off when Cera bit her bottom lip. “What did I say? What’s wrong?”

  “Everything’s ruined, and it’s all my fault.” Sniffling, Cera shook her head.

  “What are you talking about? Tell me what happened.”

  Meeting her friend’s dark eyes, Cera nodded.

  The whole story tumbled out, her tears cascading when Aimil cringed at what she’d said to Jorrin.

  Aimil hugged her though, and Cera was glad she didn’t offer any criticism or berate her for the awful things.

  “I don’t understand why it’s too late to fix it,” Aimil said.

  “Because he left. I hurt him, and he left. He was never comfortable here, anyway.” Shoulders slumped, Cera crushed her eyes shut and forced a breath.

  “Cera, Lord Aldern didn’t leave, at least not permanently.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tristan and Sir Leargan Tegran asked him to accompany them on a ride. If I know my Tristan, he wanted a chance to get to know both your Lord Aldern and Sir Tegran better.”

  “What? Are you sure?” Her heart stopped.

  “Yes. The stable boy told me when I arrived. I decided to wait up here for Tristan, since I have no message runs today. I was actually on my way to find you . . . then I ran into you in the hallway.” Aimil shrugged, smiling.

  “He’s not gone,” Cera whispered. Her heart tripped over itself. “It’s not too late . . .”

  “You’d better hope he forgives you.” Her friend’s voice was stern.

  Cera blinked.

  “I’ll not live with you at Greenwald if you’re unhappy all the time.” Aimil waggled a finger at her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one told you? Tristan will be Lord Aldern’s Second. When we wed, I’ll be coming to Greenwald. I want to see you happy with Lord Aldern, like I’ll be with Tristan.”

  Cera smiled genuinely. Leargan had mentioned something about Tristan, but she hadn’t asked him to clarify. “I’ll be happy, Aimil. I love him.”

  Her friend grinned.

  Cera hugged Aimil. “Thank you.” Hopping up, she surprised both her wolf and her
friend.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “To the stables. I have to talk to him as soon as they return. I’ve a lot of groveling to do.” Cera made a face, but her heart lifted.

  Maybe it really isn’t too late . . .

  “I’ll go with you. I want to see Tristan first thing.”

  They exchanged another smile.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The hard ride felt good.

  Jorrin didn’t need to think, didn’t need to feel. The wind moved his hair, stung his cheeks and rushed in his ears.

  He didn’t want to remember how Cera felt in his arms or how she tasted when he kissed her. What it was like when he touched her and made love to her. Didn’t want to remember the pain when she’d said she hated him.

  Jorrin growled.

  No. Not again.

  It’d been days.

  He needed to stop dwelling on it.

  Lord Tristan Dagget was on his right, Sir Leargan Tegran on his left. They’d be his men.

  His men.

  It still baffled him and set butterflies spinning in his stomach.

  How could he run a Province?

  A small voice reminded him that he’d need Cera at his side, but Jorrin silenced it.

  It hurt too badly.

  Tristan had sought him out, asking if he wanted to go for a ride. The lord had just left a meeting with the king, but Jorrin hadn’t asked about it.

  Jorrin had accepted the invitation; he needed to get to know both men. Despite the petty jealousies he’d had about Leargan, he liked him.

  As a matter of fact, he liked what he saw in both of them so far.

  They slowed, nearing the king’s stables.

  Grayna was much smaller than Tristan’s dark brown stallion and even smaller than Leargan’s buckskin-colored mare, but Jorrin didn’t care. She was, and always would be, a companion to him.

  Tristan caught his eye as he dismounted.

  Jorrin figured he was in for a good ribbing.

  “You’re a duke now, you know.” The lord made a show of looking Grayna up and down.

  Leargan laughed and Jorrin shot him a glare. “And?”

  “You may want to get a more impressive horse . . . as in . . . larger?” Tristan grinned and hopped to the ground giving his stallion, Capall, an affectionate pat.