Vann took a deep breath. “There’s only one thing to do. Why are we letting these young pups have all the fun?” He inclined his head toward the practice ring. “Why don’t you and I go show them how it’s done?”
Ryliann’s grin was genuine. “And work off my frustration. I have yet to hear a better suggestion all day.”
“I’ll remind you of that when I sit you on your ass, my prince. Really, though, I can direct you to a few places to work off that frustration in a slightly more pleasurable way.”
“I know of them.” Ryliann pulled at his tunic. “Let me change out of this blasted finery and I’ll meet you back here.”
Vann shrugged. “Not the choice I would have made.”
“That’s why you’re a lackey, not a prince.” Ryliann moved out of the way of Vann’s mock blow and headed back toward the castle. He wouldn’t give up. His father had always been a practical man. He would see reason.
* * *
Ilythra turned her head, a maneuver seeming to take longer than it should. Bredych sat across a game table, a concerned expression on his dusky face. His brows drew together and he reached toward her hand. She tried to move but seemed frozen in place.
“It’s your move,” he said.
She glanced at the game pieces. Ebony and ivory figures stood in battle array on a sectioned board. She tried to focus on the stoic warriors, but they wavered before her as though the heat from the fire reached out to distort them. She glanced back up at Bredych.
“Take your time,” he said. “There’s no hurry. Well. Not much, anyway.”
Crist. By the positions on the board, she could tell they must have been playing awhile. Confusion laced her thoughts. Where was she? Bredych sipped his tea. The faint aroma of cloves tickled her senses. An obvious move stood out on the board. She reached across and placed the scribe.
“Excellent.” Bredych grinned, showing even, white teeth. “I enjoy a good challenge. It’s been too long.” Bredych studied the board. Firelight played on his face, creating inhuman angles. He met her gaze. His eyes grew calculating and a smile touched his lips. “But the obvious move is not always the wise one.”
Ilythra opened her eyes with a gasp. Naidel in hand, she stared into the dark night. A dream. It was only another dream. She tried to analyze it before it faded from memory. Once again they were deep underground. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but the impression of immense weight above her remained. She had never played Crist with Bredych while they’d been in Greton. But then, she’d been drugged most of her time there. She couldn’t be sure of anything.
As the tent above her came into focus, the dream began to fade, leaving only a vague feeling of disquiet. She replayed everything that happened in an attempt to remember. Her heartbeat slowed and the cool air dried the sweat on her brow. She sheathed Naidel and swallowed a few sips of water from her skin, surprised how thirsty she was.
“Are you alright?” Arien asked from the blankets next to her, his voice loud in the quiet night.
“Yes. I’m fine. A dream is all.” The need to tell him grew but some quiet shame kept her silent. Why was she dreaming about the man she despised most in the world? Besides, she couldn’t quite remember anything now except that the dream had been about Bredych. She settled back on the blankets, drawing comfort from Arien’s warm presence beside her. Sleep would not come. These dreams were not like those she’d had when she’d first come to the mainland. Then she’d dreamed of a vague red man. Now it was as though she was really speaking to Bredych. Was she? Fear tinged her thoughts. She had a feeling the answer to that was more frightening than the dreams themselves.
“That was not just a dream. What happened?” In the dark, Arien moved nearer her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his warmth.
It was the hesitancy to tell him that finally decided her. Darkness and deceit couldn’t flourish in the light. Everything about Bredych needed to be brought into the open. “It was Bredych.”
She felt more than saw him come alert.
“Tell me.” It was a command. The voice of a born leader.
She entertained the thought of letting the brief flare of irritation show but decided against it. “In the dream, I was just talking with Bredych.”
Although Arien remained immobile, she could feel his tension rise. “It’s not the first.”
“No. They are like no dreams I’ve known. He’s deep underground somewhere.”
“What does he say?” Arien asked.
She shook her head. “This time we were playing a game called Crist. I think that’s new, although I can’t really remember details for long after I wake up. He said he hadn’t been challenged in awhile and he was looking forward to playing. Oh, he also said the obvious move is not always the wise one.”
Arien nodded. “This is true.” He took a deep breath and slowly released. “Dream casting.”
“What?”
“I think he’s dream casting. He’s calling you to him along the winds of Teann.”
“How can he do that? I have my protections.” Alarm coursed through her blood.
“Has he ever threatened you?” Arien asked.
She struggled to remember but although she woke up uneasy, she never felt threatened. “No.”
“That’s how. You’re not viewing him as a threat. Part of you may even want to talk to him.”
“What are you saying?” She sat up and stared through the dim light at him.
“Only that it would help matters if we knew what he was planning. Where he was.”
Ilythra relaxed again.
“How autonomous are you in your dreams?”
“Not very. I tried to move but my reactions are slow.”
“He’s controlling the dream because he thinks either you will not tell us or we will not train you. You did, and I will.” Arien reached for her hand. “Father came to you in dreams several times.”
Ilythra smiled. She remembered the day in detail. “By the river as I was entering the protected lands for the first time. He told me to hurry.”
“There were other times, but you may not remember.” Arien sighed. “I’ve dreamed of Bredych too.”
“You have?” It was her turn to be shocked.
“Not as clear as you but I can sense him out there, seeking something. From time to time, I feel him on the winds of Teann. I am more sensitive to that when I’m sleeping.”
Ilythra nodded. So was she. It made sense. She swallowed. Bredych was underground somewhere. If she could actually journey in her dreams to where he was, she could determine the exact location and—
“He seeks you.”
The words brought her gaze back to the Elderborn before her. “He wants the stone.”
“That is true,” Arien acquiesced. “But he also wants you.”
Chapter Three
Bredych stared down at the palace gardens. Flowers bloomed in a profuse display under newly budding trees and edged wandering paths. The sunlight sparkled on a small stream that meandered through the gardens and finished its journey at a small pond. It was a well thought-out design. They really were quite peaceful. He took a deep breath and reread the message he’d just received. It was written on dark, almost brown paper, the kind favored by those Rugians who were literate. The bird keeper had strict instructions to bring any such messages to him first and with the seal intact.
This message made him smile. The trap was set. He took a moment to marvel at his own design. Ilythra had caused too many disruptions in his plans. No longer. He’d woven together a series of traps so intricate that even if she escaped one, she would trip on the next or the next. He wasn’t a fool. Her propensity to escape a situation that should have killed her was admirable. Probably due to the stone magnifying her innate luck. But this time, if she escaped, the pa
th open to her would be the one Bredych wanted her on. He’d planned it out in intricate detail.
He moved to the fireplace and tossed the message to the flames. The faint sound of two men speaking traveled down the hall outside his room. The prince and his friend. Another person who seemed to have innate luck—Ryliann had returned from fighting the Creeians quite alive. Bredych hesitated leaving him alone with his father, but it couldn’t be helped.
The Creeians grew restless unless he appeared among them once a moon or so, and farther south, the Formori would take his appearance as confirmation that their god wished them to wash the northern land with blood. They assumed they were purifying it. He smiled. They really were a bloodthirsty lot.
His presence was needed elsewhere. Besides, he’d been very careful with Jaryn. The king’s mind didn’t think a thought that Bredych didn’t put there. He would deal with the prince when he returned.
* * *
Ryliann took the stairs two at a time. He’d spent the morning with his men training in the yard and was drinking a pint of ale at the tavern when a man entered with a summons from his father. Even on a good day, his father didn’t appreciate Ryliann coming in looking like a peasant, so he thought it best to clean up and change. He rubbed the finely woven tunic. He’d seen other men at court appear completely comfortable in such things. He preferred plainer attire that was much easier to move in. He was sure he could fight in the damn shirt, but he might be tempted to rip the sleeves off first.
He hadn’t seen his father for a few days, thinking it might be best if they both cooled down. He hoped the summons meant his father had decided to send more men south. At any rate, it would be an opportunity to remind him of the blight, which Ryliann had forgotten to mention the last time they’d argued. They needed to help the peasants. Find a way to stop the blight from spreading. He’d already received word from a few farmers that some of the new crops evidenced the same deformed and stunted growth as last year.
He slowed down as he neared his father’s chamber and took a deep breath. The guard at the door nodded to him and opened it.
King Jaryn looked up from behind his desk and smiled. “Come. Sit.”
He moved to the chair in front of the desk and did as his father commanded.
“I wanted to talk to you about the feast to celebrate the Festival of Adune. I have invited several of the lords and their families. I would like you to be in attendance each of the ten days.”
Ryliann cringed. He’d forgotten about the annual festival to honor the goddess of spring in the hopes for a good crop come fall. He had to admit, it was a good idea. The peasants loved the festivities. It might alleviate some of the unrest in the villages. “I had meant to talk to you about harvest,” Ryliann began. “Many of the farmers are worried.”
“You’re talking about the blight.” The king waved his hand. “Farmers are superstitious folk. If it’s not the blight, it’s lack of rain, insects, too much rain, not enough insects. I have never met a satisfied farmer.”
“Father, the blight took a quarter of our crops last year. At least that much is affected this year. We—”
“I’ve been assured it’s not a problem. The festival will liven up even those rigid naysayers. You’ll see. By the moon next, they’ll find something else to complain about.”
Ryliann’s spine straightened. He’d bet his crown he knew who had advised his father that the blight wasn’t a problem. What was Brishne’s end game? Was he after the crown? Power? Why turn his father’s eyes away from real and pressing problems to fight the wind? “Perhaps you’re right. I will be there the entire ten days.” He inwardly groaned. It meant being courteous and polite in uncomfortable clothes while near strangers wined and dined in their hall. He mentally chastised himself. He was a prince and it was his duty. He would do it with a smile.
“Good, because I have invited several families with daughters that are acceptable matches. I expect you to consider carefully. By the tenth day, you should have a queen in mind.”
“What?” Ryliann leaned forward.
“You heard me. You’ve had your time to socialize with the peasants and the soldiers but it’s time you remembered you are not one of them. It is your duty to marry and produce heirs. You will do so by this time next year or I will select a bride for you.”
For a moment, Ryliann’s mind blanked. “You’re serious.”
“Oh, yes.” Jaryn stared at his son.
Ryliann opened and shut his mouth. “Have you considered sending more soldiers south?”
The king smiled and stood. “Brishne is leaving for a few days. I will discuss it with him once he returns.”
Ryliann couldn’t have been more shocked if his father had told him he was marrying the nursemaid and moving to a wave rider village to spend the rest of his days.
“Did you have something else you wished to discuss?”
“Uh, no.” Ryliann realized he was still sitting in the chair and rose. “Would you—”
“No, I will not reconsider. You may leave.”
Ryliann walked out of the room and into the hall. He liked women. He’d had quite a few, all of them nice, pretty. Some had even been what his father would call acceptable. But none had captured his heart. He always thought there would be that one woman. And once he saw her he’d just know. She would be a missing piece of him. He took a deep breath. The best he could hope for was that the woman would attend the Feast of Adune. Maybe what this kingdom needed was a little celebration.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling it was all smoke and mirrors. A peddler’s trick meant to distract them from what was really happening.
* * *
The cool air inside the keep brushed her skin, sending chills over her body. Ilythra took a deep breath, inhaling the subtle scent of mineral and whatever they were making for dinner. Her stomach rumbled. She and Arien hadn’t stopped longer than necessary once they’d determined to present a united stand to Ewen. They would go into human lands and try to ease the fears rampaging across the lands and while doing so, they would look for Bredych and the stone. Arien had already begun teaching her the fundamentals of dream casting, and although she was ready to try the techniques she’d learned, Bredych had yet to make an appearance in her dreams.
Her stomach rumbled again. She was tempted to detour to the kitchen for a quick snack. She could almost picture the large, bright room full of flushed cooks and small children. It was always warmer in the kitchen than in the other parts of the mountain keep. For that reason, and the many stolen treats, it was her favorite place to linger on cold winter days.
Arien had stayed in the stables to assure the horses were properly tended to. She expected his footsteps behind her at any moment. They’d stopped at one of the smaller Elderborn villages on the way back to send a bird with a message that they were returning.
She knew once she stepped inside the protected lands, Ewen would breathe a sigh of relief. He was overly protective of her and the stone. She couldn’t blame him. Her steps slowed. How would he take the knowledge that she and Arien were leaving as soon as they could gather a very small party?
Where was Arien? He was taking too long. And then she knew. The prince was giving her time alone with his father to explain why she’d just vanished. She took the steps to Ewen’s study slowly. How did she explain to the Riege why she’d left without speaking to him? A restlessness she couldn’t alleviate had driven her to the stables. Her stallion, Melior, had picked up on her state of mind and run like the wind over the now-familiar trails. It hadn’t exactly been a decision. It had seemed natural to keep going. She’d avoided the Dawn Children cities, preferring to be alone until she’d seen how close the Cethin Mountains had become. She’d navigated easily through the maze, thanks to Ilydearta, and bypassed the road to Isolden to head south to Greton. Looking back, she supposed it was impulsive. She smiled.
She hadn’t completely matured yet.
And now she was back.
She made her way slowly through the winding corridors, absently noting the beautiful artwork adorning the walls and ceiling, and the high, intricate archways carved out of solid stone. She had sworn not to take it for granted, but it seemed to be the most natural thing to do. The impressive display had become commonplace, just part of the scenery on the way to Ewen’s private rooms.
A feeling of dread grew in her stomach at each step. Would Ewen be angry? She scoffed at the idea. Ewen had never been angry a day in his life, she was sure. The keeper of Wisdom was unflappable. But she couldn’t quell the growing feeling of unease. She ran a hand over her hair and flipped the braid over her shoulder to fall down her back to her waist. At the doorway, she paused to straighten her tunic, wishing she had stopped by her rooms to get the dust off first.
“Doed, Ilythra.” Ewen’s voice sounded through the door.
She took a deep breath and entered. As always, the room sent a wave of peace over her body. A fire crackled in the fireplace, lending its light to illuminate the glass vases on the mantle. Books lined the walls, and a small sitting area was close enough to the fire to catch its warmth. The song of Ilydearta rose in response to the proximity of its sister stone. Their songs entangled, harmonies playing off one another until the melody was more than the sum of its parts. She breathed it in. It washed over her in waves. Power surged through her veins, energy erasing the weariness of the road, renewing, remaking her into more than she could ever be alone and filling her with peace.
Today the peace was short-lived. Ewen sat on a couch before the fire. When she approached, he rose, but his expression was grim. Maybe she was wrong. Was he mad? He turned to her and her heart sunk. Sorrow radiated from his green eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ewen. I forget I’m—”
He waved her explanation away. “Sit, child.”
The feeling of dread increased. She shook her head. “What happened?” The dread bloomed until it climbed up her chest and gripped her throat, but she sat on the edge of a chair.
Journey of the Wanderer Page 3