“Remember the voice,” Madam Sewell said. “We all heard it, that angel voice speaking of the Mist. It said we should have heeded Lyssanne’s warnings. Surely, that was the King letting us know she has His favor.”
“I propose we vote to pardon Lyssanne for breaking exile,” Mr. Murrough said. “Her motives warrant it.”
“I second the motion,” Mr. DeLivre said.
Ratomer huffed. “Gierre, you aren’t on the Council.”
“Neither are you,” Mr. Murrough said, “until we’re officially reinstated.”
The hall erupted in shouts of “Here, here!”
Ratomer banged the gavel and called for a show of hands. Once again, Lyssanne’s fate rested on a vote. This time, when the gavel sounded, it held the ring of freedom rather than the toll of death.
Ratomer’s grudging pronouncement and the ensuing tumult set Lyssanne’s head to reeling.
“Oh, Lyss!” Aderyn said, stepping around Clark and eyeing Brennus as he sheathed his sword. “You’re really back! And you can stay.”
“I’m just thankful you’re safe,” Lyssanne said, embracing her friend.
They had time to share little else, as the throng closed in upon Lyssanne. Well-wishes ranged from tearful joy at her return, to polite gratitude for her bringing those courageous soldiers to help. Lyssanne’s hands were grasped, her arms patted, and occasionally her breath stolen by fierce hugs. Through it all, Brennus and Clark remained at her sides, ever vigilant.
Suddenly, dozens of little hands were reaching for Lyssanne. The children swarmed about her like insects to sweetbread, repeating her name. She staggered under the force of so many tiny bodies hugging her at once.
“Easy, little ones,” Brennus said, stepping aside to accommodate them. “Give the lady room, else you’ll push her over.”
A ripple ran through the children like a current on the Esten. Little faces turned toward Brennus, transfixed. A few of the smaller children tried to burrow into Lyssanne’s skirts to hide, while several of the boys wore wide grins and even wider eyes.
During a slight lull, in which villagers greeted Brennus and Serena, Lyssanne beckoned to Jarad. “Has anyone seen Reina?” she asked, Venefica’s words haunting her thoughts.
“Nobody’s gone that deep into the wood,” Jarad said. “Nobody who returned, at least.”
Lyssanne shivered.
“But Reina wouldn’t have let any of those foul creatures get close to her.”
“I’m certain you have it aright,” Lyssanne said, her throat tight.
“I’ll go check on her,” Jarad said, turning toward the door.
“No! Jarad, ’tis too dangerous. Dark beasts could still roam the wood.”
“They all fled,” he said.
“Jarad, you must not go into that wood alone. I…I forbid it.” ’Twas ridiculous—she, acting the part of a guardian with this boy who had so often been her protector.
“But—”
“Heed her caution, Jarad,” Brennus said, his tone more command than advice. “I, too, am concerned for our friend, but only a fool would venture alone into that wood.”
“I shall accompany him, if you wish,” Clark said.
Agreeing, Brennus assigned two of Lord Duncan’s men to escort them, then he waved Duncan nearer. “Lyssanne needs safe lodging. She may be injured.”
“Your pardon, Sir Prince,” Aderyn said, shifting her child higher on her hip. “Kelyssa and I can tend her. Our cottage is rightfully hers, after all.”
Brennus offered her a brief bow, then whispered to Lord Duncan, “Stay close.”
“You expect trouble?” Duncan asked. “You don’t trust these villagers, do you?”
“Not with her,” Brennus murmured, his gaze weighing upon Lyssanne.
His vigilance was a comfort she wished she didn’t need in this, of all places.
The moon, little more than a crescent shard, climbed higher as Brennus and Serena escorted Lyssanne through the wood to meet Reina. It would shed no light the following night. Serena, too, gazed at the sky, perhaps pondering the fate she’d so narrowly escaped. She glanced at Brennus, shifting shoulders that no longer needed fear the loss of wings.
Ironic, just ten months before, they three had made this same trek. Though, Lyssanne’s feet alone had trodden the ground. Brennus might have jested with Serena about their aerial battle, had his thoughts not been heavy with all Lyssanne had endured since.
At Reina’s whinny, Lyssanne rushed ahead and flung her arms about the unicorn’s neck. Though she’d slept through the day and half the night, her pallor rivaled Reina’s.
“Jarad said you were unharmed, but I had to be certain,” she said.
“Fear not for me, child,” Reina said. “The mud creature I slew wasn’t truly alive—composed, as it was, of dead earth animated by corrupted magic.”
“Your courage brings honor to your kin and your King,” Serena said.
“You’re certain you are well?” Lyssanne asked. “Your voice sounds strained.”
“Little escapes your perception, child,” Reina said. “I am no longer the carefree creature you first met. I’ve begun to notice the passage of time as never before.”
“Oh, Reina!” Lyssanne cried. “Forgive me.”
“I’ve gained more than I’ve lost, dear one. Including a deepened compassion for those who do not always act with the purest intentions.” Her fathomless gaze rested on Brennus. “I have learned, from your ready forgiveness of your prince, that one cannot know what circumstance drives a creature to such actions.”
Brennus doubted himself capable of ever extending that level of grace.
“Should the taint of the mortal realm grow too painful,” Serena said, “a place will forever remain reserved for you in Glenneirien.” She caught Brennus’s eye. “I sense Lyssanne desires a private word with Reina.”
Brennus nodded and retreated to a discrete distance.
“You appear troubled, Prince of Navvar,” Serena said, joining him.
“She’s done all the King asked of her and more,” he said, his eyes fixed on Lyssanne. “She nearly gave her life for theirs, and still these people hold her apart from them.”
“It is often thus in wars of the spirit,” Serena said. “Men’s natural eyes fail to see the battles waged on their behalf in the secret place.”
“It wearies her,” he said, his voice thick. “The curse, you’re certain, is lifted?”
“It is.”
“Why, then, does her weakness persist? She speaks not of it, but I know the signs. With her smallest exertion, strength fails her.”
“Only time can heal the toll years of torment have taken on her body,” said the queen. “She must be patient, as should you.”
“My sole wish is to see her safe and her suffering ended.”
Serena tilted her head then stood silent for so long, Brennus thought their converse at an end. Then, she announced, “The King has just entrusted me with a message for you.”
His gaze flashed to hers. “For me? Are you certain?”
“Quite,” she said, her eyes glittering.
The King of All Lands considered him of sufficient worth to receive a personal message? It defied comprehension. “What message?” Brennus asked.
“For your courage in breaking free of Darkness and your selfless sacrifice, He has granted you a boon.”
“Indeed,” Brennus said. “With every sunrise, I shall offer thanks for His mercy in lifting the curse from my line.”
“’Tis of a different boon He speaks.”
“There is nothing more I could ask or wish,” Brennus said, “lest it be assurance of Lyssanne’s safety and happiness.”
“Perhaps, but the King offers another reward. Should you wish it, you may retain the ability to transform into that avian form with which you are so familiar.”
Brennus swung to face her, but Serena lifted a hand to forestall any protest.
“Not as a raven, which profits from the deaths of others,
” she said, “but as an eagle, a creature who brings forth new life from nests on high.”
Brennus shook his head, refusal upon his lips, but with a wave of Serena’s hand, his mouth sealed itself.
“Do not give your answer in haste,” she said. “The eagle is a symbol of the King’s power, grace, and majesty. As the King transforms the spirit, allowing the heart of man to soar above natural circumstance, He grants you this ability as a useful weapon in the wars you must wage.”
Brennus shot her a hot glare that would have cowed many a man.
“I know well the relief of shedding those feathers,” she said, “but this would be a transformation of your choosing. Take time to consider its advantages. In the hands of the King, what was a curse may become your greatest weapon.”
Brennus nodded, and his lips fell free of their bonds.
“The King gives you several days to make your answer. Wherever you may be at the appointed hour, I shall seek you out and receive it for Him.”
Brennus bowed. “Then, I shall await your prompting before voicing my decision.”
“Six men, buried in one morning,” Aderyn said, taking the stack of cloth strips Lyssanne had cut and dropping them into the tub of water boiling on the fire. “’Twill be passing strange, not seeing Mr. Cutler at his butcher’s stall on Marketday.”
“So much loss,” Lyssanne said. She flexed her shoulders, then set to preparing more bandages. “I am thankful the children, at least, escaped that grim dawn unharmed.”
“Yes, though we lost three while you were away,” Aderyn said, settling at the dining table across from Serena. “One of the orphans got ahold of spoiled food. Then, Elward Murrough slipped and impaled himself on that broken shovel handle, trying to attack his own father.”
Lyssanne rested her face in her palms. “Oh, Elward.” She glanced up. “You said three?”
“You sure you want to hear this, Lyss?” At Lyssanne’s nod, Aderyn continued. “Madam Blythe was murdered. Her husband’s convinced Lady Mortifer had her killed because he voted against letting her rule. One of the twins witnessed it, we think. Poor dear went mad. Flung herself from the bell tower.”
Was there no end to this sadness? Fighting for composure, Lyssanne shook out another bandage. How could Aderyn bear to sit in this room, where every surface or wall bore reminders of her slain parents? The uprising that overthrew the Council cost her more than anyone.
Like the promise of sun after a storm, Aderyn’s daughter tugged at Lssanne’s skirt and held out a piece of bread.
“Thank you, Kelyssa.” Lyssanne took the soggy bread, smiling. “Such a beautiful name.”
“She wears it in honor of the two people most dear to me,” Aderyn said. “Kevan and you.”
“Me? But we only name children for those who have died.” She gasped. “You thought I—”
“Evlia sent me fer those new bandages,” Mr. Whiskin said, stomping into the room. He poked at the blood-soaked cloth covering his arm. “That oversized lizard tried to tear this whole thing off. Evlia’s a fair seamstress, but I suppose I’d best learn to knead dough one-handed.”
“Allow me to assist you,” Lord Duncan said, pushing away from the wall near the door. “It’ll give me something to do until the changing of the guard.” He lifted one end of a cooled, second tub of sterile cloths and helped Mr. Whiskin carry it into the next room.
Lyssanne watched them go, longing to ease Mr. Whiskin’s suffering, but Serena had warned her to use her gift only in the most dire cases, lest she, too, should become ill.
As if sensing her thoughts, Serena rested a hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Your faith, alone, would not suffice here. This man has knowledge of the King, thus his trust and expectation are required if he is to receive the gift.”
Aderyn leaned across the table. “Lyss, you must tell me about this dashing prince. How did you meet?”
“That is a long and complex tale.”
“Then, ’tis a good thing you are so fond of telling stories.”
The door to the veranda burst open. “I found her!” Jarad shouted over his shoulder.
“Ah, I see my rest is ended,” Lord Duncan said, reentering the room.
Brennus followed Jarad inside. “You’re needed elsewhere, Duncan.”
“Trouble with the prisoners?” Duncan asked.
“They’re being moved from the mill. The village leaders ask that you explain their fate, once they’re secured in the cellar beneath this house.”
Lyssanne’s stomach flipped at the thought of Willem, Teremiah Furin, and several others who’d so fully succumbed to the Mist that not even seeing the truth of its nature had restored their reason. “What is to be their fate?” she asked.
“They are to be guests of Avery Hall while awaiting judgment,” Lord Duncan said.
The tower cell flashed into her mind.
“Duncan is a fair man, Lyssanne,” Brennus said. “Even your learned scribe believes they will receive a more impartial hearing in his courts than they would here.”
“Fii,” Mr. DeLivre said, stepping around Brennus. “That, I do. How this village can ever repay you both for all you’ve done, I do not know.”
“If you wish to repay me, sir,” Lord Duncan said, “have someone prepare me a cup of that fine flyl I’m told is to be found solely in Cloistervale.”
“Yeah,” Jarad said. “We all need some flyl, especially Lady Lyssanne.” He fixed his gaze on her. “You’re so pale, I can almost see through you.”
“What Lyssanne needs,” Brennus said, “is more rest.”
“So much remains to be done,” she said. “How could I sleep?”
“Others will see to it,” Brennus said, reaching for her hand. “You’ve done enough.”
“Yes,” Aderyn said. “Come, I shall brew flyl for our friends, and if you can’t sleep, you can share with me that tale we discussed.”
“And I have a pair of iron sculptures that want returning to you,” Mr. DeLivre said.
Brennus pulled Lyssanne to her feet. “I shall escort you.”
She nodded, too weary to resist.
A line of knights, herding men with bound hands, cut across their path at the foot of the veranda. Suddenly, one of the prisoners wrenched a sword from the knight in front of him. He lunged straight for Lyssanne.
With a flash of steel, faster than thought, Brennus leapt in front of her—and Willem lay on the ground. Dead.
32
Choice
Brennus took a slow sip of skyberry juice, his eyes sweeping the parlor of his temporary accommodations over the rim of his glass. He made the glance appear casual, just an outsider observing the village men who’d gathered for refreshment after the long day’s cleanup efforts. Like a raven scanning the forest for wounded prey, however, he was on the hunt for the slightest sign of impending insurrection.
Most conversations in the room centered around the carpenter’s attack on Lyssanne and the protests it had fueled against the Council’s reinstatement. The pair of men nearest Brennus’s chair debated whether it had been Lyssanne or Aderyn Clayton Willem meant to slay.
“The old Council couldn’t keep us safe,” one of them murmured. “This just proves the new one’s no better.”
Brennus tensed. He cared nothing for Cloistervale’s political state, but Lyssanne’s safety was one thing he would not compromise. He would use every weapon he possessed—including those peasants’ nauseating acquiescence to his every wish—to ensure a peaceful transition.
A commotion drew his eye to the front door. Several men crowded a newcomer, who struggled to push his way into the room.
“Gentlemen, if you please,“ Duncan said, in polite but impatient tones.
“The new Council is eager to finalize that trade agreement you proposed,” Ratomer said. “You truly believe there will be so great a market for flyl?”
“I’ve no doubt of it,” Duncan said, “but if you’ll excuse me—”
“What makes you so certain?�
� the baker asked, towering over the others.
“Lyssanne’s version was such a favorite at my feasts,” Duncan said, “King Luteson’s own chef has demanded the recipe. Soon, every manor and merchant’s house in Lyrya will be clamoring for your honcin. Now, I must—”
“Lyssanne, again,” one of the men murmured.
Brennus smirked behind his cup, then leaned back in his hearthside chair, as the councilmen peppered Duncan with questions on fair pricing, means of transport, and such.
“We shall discuss these matters on the morrow," Duncan said. "I have urgent business to attend.” He pushed between two men and hastened toward Brennus.
“What’s amiss,” Brennus asked, jumping to his feet. “Is Lyssanne—?”
“Safe,” Duncan said. “Clark is with her. A messenger arrived with tidings for you. Said he rode night and day to deliver this.” He held out a letter.
Brennus took it and broke its seal. A breath whistled out between his teeth as he read. “Has the messenger departed?”
“No,” Duncan said. “My men are giving him food and a place to bed down for the night.”
“Good. I must send an immediate response.” Brennus beckoned Duncan to follow him into the deceased chief councilman’s study.
“What’s happened?” Duncan asked, closing the door behind them.
“Sorin found a Navvarish boy in the desert near Ravenshold,” Brennus said, rummaging for parchment and quill. “Once he’d regained strength enough to speak, the child told Captain Tryggvi he’s the sole survivor of his village.”
“Disease?” Duncan asked.
“The Brotherhood.” Brennus sank into the chair behind the desk. “Soldiers slew every man, woman, and child because, in the boy’s words, ‘our tribute was too small, including the people they required of us.’”
“People?” Duncan said.
“Slaves, perhaps,” Brennus said, “or worse. Rumors abound of a magic so dark, it consumes life to feed its power. Some say Blackthorne wields such.”
“Sounds like fodder for fireside tales,” Duncan said. “Still, the Brotherhood’s murder of its own people is nothing new.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 45