With a groan of frustration, her fist tightened around the medallion. After Orra's death, Daen and Maddyn wanted to keep the true reason for Maddyn's visit a secret from anyone who didn't already know. Those who knew might be in danger. Or might be a spy. And asking any of the elder Seryts was as good as admitting she didn't have the most basic skill or training to be the Kelan.
Putting the chain back around her neck, Yve muttered, "Mother Orra, if you have any influence where you are, I could use a little direction right now."
She made one last circuit around the chamber, snuffing out the lanterns and candles. Then listened closely at the door before letting herself out into the empty hall.
Yve trudged up the stairs, the weight of failure weighing her down. Until she caught sight of Brynna heading out into the garden. Perhaps serendipity was finally smiling on her. The High-Seryt may be precisely who she needs.
Yve found her slumped on the bench mostly hidden by the arbor and lush foliage. The usual implacable mask she wore had been ripped away by grief, and tears dripped from behind eyelids squeezed tight against the pain.
Yve stopped in her tracks, heart throbbing in sympathy. As the new Kelan, she'd barely had time to accept Orra's death, let alone grieve.
As High-Seryt and, for all intents, acting Kelan, Brynna had had even less time. An orphan left at the Temple and raised by the Order, more than any of the other Seryts, Orra had truly been a mother to Brynna.
No matter how much Yve needed answers about the medallion, now wasn't the time.
She'd go back to the Temple and wait until Brynna was more composed before approaching her. Yve only took one soft step backward before Brynna opened her eyes and froze her in her tracks.
The High-Seryt blinked. Then blinked once more. By the time she opened her eyes for the third time, her usual serene expression had slipped back into place, and her spine snapped ramrod straight. Brynna didn't bother to wipe at the tears, just lifted her chin and ignored them.
"What can I do for you, Mother Yve?"
This was the first time anyone had called her Mother. Brynna was young but still a few years older than Yve and being addressed that way was weird and terrifying. She had to imagine it had been even weirder to say.
Taking another step back, Yve raised her hands and waved them uselessly. "Uh, nothing. It can wait. It's not... It can wait."
In her haste to extract herself from Brynna's private grief, she almost said it wasn't important. But that would be a lie. It was important. If Maddyn and Daen were right, it might be the most important thing in the kingdom, right now. But it could wait for Brynna to grieve.
"If there's something I can help you with, Mother, I'd rather do that than..."
For a moment, Brynna's grimace revealed her internal struggle before smoothing out.
"I'd rather not dwell on things I cannot change."
That Brynna understood. Wanting to avoid thinking about the loss and pain had been a huge part of what led Yve to seek the library instead of her own bed.
"Well, in that case, I need your help."
Yve crossed the few feet and dropped down onto the bench.
"I'm happy to help in any way I can, Mother Yve," Brynna said, with very little emotion at all.
Trying to ignoring the tension, she instead muttered, "I wish you wouldn't call me that."
"I explained--"
"I know. I understand. And I appreciate your support," Yve said, patting Brynna's arm. Then she sighed and rolled her eyes at her own melodrama. "It's just really, really hard to get used to hearing."
Probably even harder for Brynna to get used to saying. They hadn't talked about Yve's elevation over her. Not once mentioned that everyone had assumed Brynna would inherit the title and honor from Orra.
"I'm sorry that I-- It should have been you. I'm not prepared for this. Even if I had half the training I needed, my attitude and interests have never been quite in line with the Order. The elder Seryts are never going to accept me.”
A ghost of a smile flickered at the curves of Brynna's lips. Something both sarcastic and sad hovered in the expression.
"They wouldn't have accepted me, either. Perhaps there'd be less overt criticism. But Gyrt has often whispered that Mother Orra was overinvested in me. Complained I learned things too early. I was given responsibility and authority incommensurate with my age. Even though I've been with the Order nearly as long as she has. Even though I grew up here, absorbing everything from the time when I could barely walk."
Her vehemence was something Yve had never seen. Something Brynna usually kept leashed. It was a side of the High-Seryt that Yve could learn to really like.
Yve had never realized they had the doubters and detractors in common.
She couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound inane, though, so Yve settled for a whispered, "I'm sorry."
Brynna pinched her lips together and shook her head. "Don't be. In a way, it's a relief. I've never thought about anything else. My whole life was a series of places I was supposed to be. A series of things I was supposed to do. What I was supposed to want. What I supposed to become. I never questioned any of it."
"And you're questioning it now?"
"Not questioning. Just. Thinking. For myself. For the first time."
Yve had no idea what to say to that. No idea how to react. Brynna took pity on her, sliding back into her disciplined persona.
"What can I help you with, Mother Yve?" A hint of amusement flitted at the edge of her voice when Brynna used the honorific this time, and Yve relaxed.
"I need to learn how to read the ancient prayer language."
Brynna's eyes widened a fraction. "That was not what I was expecting. Why?"
"I-I can't tell you, yet. It's..."
"A matter of state?"
Relieved not to have to find a way to talk around it, Yve nodded her head. "Yes. Exactly."
"Kelan for less than two days and already steeped in secrets like Mother Orra. Perhaps you were the right choice after all."
Brynna brushed off her skirts and stood up. "Let's go to the library. We should find it quiet at this time of the day."
Yve blinked in surprise until she realized Brynna meant the Temple's main library. Then she scrambled off the bench, stumbling a little as she tried to catch up with the High-Seryt's efficient, determined pace.
*****
The message from Caerwyn was not reassuring, yet Maddyn shouldn't have been surprised.
While Ranulf wasn't exactly happy with his situation on the Isles, he'd seen no signs of danger or trouble from Marnak. But their youngest brother had not sent word since crossing into the borderlands.
Maddyn wanted to drop everything, ride into the disputed territory between Marnak and the Tribal lands and rescue Phelan. As the oldest, it was his job, his duty, to protect his brothers. He'd known that, even when he'd lain dying after Tresk's forces slaughtered their clan. He crawled, wounded and bleeding across the hundred yards that separated them to get to his brothers. Had held their hands and whispered the ritual words of death to ensure their safe passage, though there was no one to do the same for him.
And when Lady Alwyn offered them life, he'd been the one to accept it for all them.
For the first time, though, Maddyn was torn. He wanted to find Phelan, make sure he was safe and whole. But the thought of leaving Yve behind, abandoning her to the mercy of an assassin that already murdered one Kelan left him conflicted and impotently furious.
His purpose had never faltered. Not once since his mother placed the newborn Ranulf in Maddyn's hands and his father told him that, as the oldest brother, he was responsible for the tiny life. That family was responsible for family. He never forgot that. Had only had the lesson driven home with the loss of his parents and clan. Then again, when he failed to protect his foster parents. His brothers were all he had left, and he'd go to war to safeguard them. But they were as well trained as he was and more than capable of taking care of themselves.
Not that his conflicted feelings of duty and honor matter. Caerwyn was his Lord as well as his brother. And he'd ordered Maddyn to stay in Galwei and see his mission through.
So, instead of rushing to the stables for his mount, Maddyn dressed in the coarse, nondescript clothes of a common workman. He pulled up the hood to hide the telltale white-blond hair and headed into the city to search for answers he'd failed to find in the castle.
Despite his best efforts at disguise, a stir shivered through the first tavern the second he walked in. Even with his hair covered, his sheer size gave him away. Resigned to doing it the hard way, he pushed the hood down and made his way to a table at the back.
The same table could be found in every tavern, inn, and waystation Maddyn had ever frequented. Old men swapping lies and gossip in equal measure. They kept the stories and tales of the community alive, though most of the rest of the populace ignored them. This particular one held three men who looked as if they might remember the first king of Galwei.
Madd waved to a passing server and ordered a round for the old men before taking a seat at the table next to them. The man who'd been sitting there trembled as he kept his eyes averted and finished his half-full tankard in two gulps. When the mug was empty, the man stammered an excuse and quickly stumbled his way out the door.
"Happen to you a lot, Harbinger?"
The group cackled at him. Maddyn didn't growl at the hated moniker but his glare sharpened.
"Aren't you afraid that death walks in my shadow?"
The oldest looking of the trio lifted a frail, bony shoulder and let it drop.
"When you get to be our age, you get used to death's cold breath on your neck."
The server placed a fresh, full tankard in front him and he raised it in a mocking to salute toward Maddyn. "If the foretelling of my passing comes with free ale, who am I to complain?"
The old-timer next to him, who looked slightly younger only by virtue of being somewhat plumper, finished a hearty swig from his fresh drink with a smacking of his lips.
"'Sides, watching this lot quake in their boots at the sight o' you is more entertaining than the tone-deaf bard the cheapskate tavern-keeper insists on torturing us with. Knowing what brought the mysterious and terrifying Lord Maddyn slumming will earn us free drinks for weeks."
He'd known he'd have to be careful with how he posed his questions, but, taking in the sharp eyes and quick minds behind the failing bodies, Maddyn doubted he'd slip anything past them. He discarded the subterfuge of pretending to be trolling taverns purely for drink and entertainment. Rather than ask directly about the Labyrinth, and give too much away, though, Madd decided to approach it obliquely and ask about the Tale of the Last King.
For the next half hour, he heard several variations of the same story Daen first told him in the Great Hall.
He had no better luck at the next tavern. Or the ones after that.
Carefully nursing his drinks along the way, he didn't even have a buzz to show for his evening by the time he settled into a corner table at the fifth drinking establishment of the night. At least the bard here could carry a tune.
When his attempts to ferret out information failed again, Maddyn decided to actually finish the tankard in front of him, enjoy the halfway decent entertainment, then call it a night.
Halfway through, a hefty man in a well-used apron sat down on the empty bench and introduced himself.
"Names Lain. This is my tavern." He gestured expansively around the single room crowded with benches. "Old Bay said you were looking to hear a good retelling of the Last King. It was my great-gran's favorite story. It's the most honest telling, if you ask me."
As much as Maddyn never wanted to hear that tale again, he forced himself to nod. The keeper immediately launched into his recitation and Madd took a healthy swig from his tankard. Leaning back, he listened half-heartedly. At this point, he'd heard the story a dozen times and could probably recite it in his sleep.
So it took him a few distracted seconds to realize he was hearing something new and different from any of the versions that came before.
"And after the grandson smote the usurper, he ascended the throne. Kelan Marram crowned him and named him prince. He objected, saying he was of the true bloodline. And the Kelan spoke. 'The Sword is gone. The Way is closed. For now. But when darkness creeps across the land again, a daughter of the Kelan's gift will stand at the center and know the Goddess again. The Way will open. And, in time, the prince will seek the Sword. If he survives, a king will once again rule Galwei.' And that's why we have a prince instead of a king."
The keeper finished his story, and Madd's mind raced with the possibilities. He knew the key was there in the old Kelan's words, but he didn't have enough of the pieces to tease it out.
Lain stared solemnly at Maddyn in silence, then blurted out, "Can you tell me how I'm going to die?"
Madd forced himself to remember the tavern-keeper had just helped him. Took a deep breath to keep from snarling.
"That's not how it works," he snapped, holding up his hand to forestall the question he knew was coming next. "And I can't tell you when either."
He tipped his tankard to finish the dregs, then set it on the table along with a handful of coins.
"Thanks for the entertainment, Lain, but it's time I called it a night."
*****
Maddyn stood in front of the darkened Temple. It was late. Much too late to seek out Yve. He should go back to the Keep. Talk to Daen instead, since the prince rarely slept. Somehow the story of the lost sword, the Labyrinth, the king and the Kelan were all linked. Maddyn just needed to figure out how.
But his instincts, and the aching need of the bond, had pulled him here. The lavender and citrus undertones of her scent lingered, and Maddyn wanted to follow the fading, invisible trail inside. It was a bad idea.
Despite all the reasons he should turn away, Maddyn stepped over the threshold and into the shadowed foyer and took a deep breath.
The hallway was dark and the Centrum shrouded in shadows. Not that it mattered. The soothing lavender led up the stairs, drawing him after it. With quiet care, he climbed the two levels up to the top level. The soft sounds of even breathing and occasional snores made it clear that he'd found the sleeping quarters of the Temple.
An ornately carved door dominated the far end of the hall, but surprisingly, that wasn't where Yve's scent led him. Instead, he stood in front of one of a dozen identical doors that lined the corridor. He paused, listened carefully to the room's occupant, moving back and forth across the room in a never ceasing path. If Yve was in there, she was awake and pacing from the sounds inside.
Tapping gently, he waited while all movement stopped, then, after a few seconds, the footsteps moved cautiously toward him, and the door opened a few inches.
Half of Yve's face peeked out of the gap, her expression wary at first, then shifted through surprise before settling into a glare.
"What are you doing here? No one but Seryts and Temple staff are allowed beyond the first level. Especially at this time of night."
Maddyn glanced down the empty hall, but he heard enough movement behind closed doors to know Yve wasn't the only one awake so late.
"Maybe we could have this inside? Before someone sees me where I'm not supposed to be."
Her face paled, and her lips pinched. For a moment, he thought Yve was going to slam the door in his face. Instead, she opened it a few inches more, grabbed his arm and tugged him into the room.
The room was functional, if sparse. A bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a window overlooking the garden. He didn't expect the previous Kelan had slept on gold sheets or anything, but he would have though the position came with a few more luxuries a
nd amenities.
"I would have expected the Kelan to have rated at least a sitting area. Possibly a fireplace."
Pink stained Yve's cheeks, and she stared down at where her hands bunched in her night clothes. Yve was never as austere as some of the Seryts, but with her dark hair loose around her shoulders and the linen shift sliding over her soft curves, she looked vulnerable and approachable. Innocent and seductive. His blood roared in his veins and Maddyn held himself in check with the last vestiges of his willpower.
"This isn't-- The Kelan's quarters are down the hall. But Orra. I just. It felt wrong to take it over so quickly. Eventually, I will."
Yve kept her head down as she stumbled over the words and her tremors of guilt pushed along their bond until Maddyn couldn't stand it. She seemed so lost, he wanted nothing more than to soothe and reassure her. Stepping close, he wrapped her in his arms and pressed his lips against the silky hair by Yve's ear.
"It's fine. Mother Orra would want you to take your time and grieve at your own pace. But you have to remember that she chose you for this. She wouldn't want you to abuse yourself with guilt, either."
They stayed like that for a while until Yve took a few deep breaths, squared her shoulders and took a step back.
"You're right. I am Kelan. I have to accept that responsibility. Which means I shouldn't have a stranger in my room well past midnight. What couldn't wait until morning?"
Maddyn blanched. What he'd found could have waited until morning. But seeing her couldn't. He blamed it on instinct. On the bond. On his senses. But the truth was, Maddyn wanted to see her.
With a rough rumble, he cleared his throat. "I spent the evening visiting some of the taverns in town.”
Yve raised an eyebrow, mouth twitching with mirth. "Really? I thought you had an important mission. Did you decide you need a break?"
Maddyn pinched his lips to prevent a smirk of his own and forced a half-hearted glower.
"I was trying to get a different perspective on folklore and history from the townsfolk. The old tale-tellers in taverns and pubs often have a very different viewpoint from the politically clean versions shared at court."
By Destiny Bound (The Lost Shrines Book 2) Page 9