“There, there.” He gave her shoulder a stiff pat.
After some minutes, she dried her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. The warrior priest took a step back, releasing her from his arms, and gave her a long, lingering look of worry.
“That settles it. You are unwell. I will show you to a place where you may rest.”
He took her by the arm to guide her, but Dulcea straightened up and gave a fierce shake of her head.
“No. I thank you for your kindness and consideration, Lord Myoden, but no.”
“My lady, I think you’d do well to trust me on this. I am a healer, you know.” He grinned.
“No, my lord. There is something I need to say to you first.” Dulcea bit her lip. “We will not survive another decade like this. All of you are just waiting for a better time to arrive, for the oppression to end. Lord Myoden, I expected things to be a little different here. I expected to speak with Emperor Greymex, but since you are our leader instead of him, I am telling this to you. I have the means to save us.”
Myoden did not speak. His eyes told her he did not believe her. She could not blame him.
“I will tell you everything.” Dulcea grasped his arm to force him to look at her. “I need your help. In fact, the fate of our land depends on it. I came here to do something, and lost and miserable as I may seem, I did not come alone. I promise you this: tomorrow at dawn we will rise in opposition and liberate our home.”
---
Dulcea had no time to react. His reaction was too quick, too honest. The Golden Staff dropped from her nerveless fingers, Myoden’s arms went around her, and he held her to his chest, whispering a prayer of thanks at her safe return. It was not proper, the way he held her so close—and in public, too—but Dulcea was too glad to care, and she embraced him in return.
“Thank the heavens, Lady Dulcea…” The priest sighed, releasing her and bending to pick up the glass shards. The blue liquid in the broken bottles seemed non-salvageable— hours of effort wasted on surprise.
“The heavens got nothing to do with it, Myoden.” She kneeled to help him in his work.
It was a menial task: any of the apprentices could have done it, but she realized it allowed Myoden a moment’s reprieve from the turmoil of his thoughts.
“Amparo Darksun told us you lived, but he could not sense where you were,” he said, an anguished expression twisting his handsome features. “I feared to learn every day you were dead.”
He reached out to touch her cheek with a trembling hand.
“How did you escape?” Done with his task, he drew back up to his full height.
Dulcea swallowed, resuming her feet. “I—I am not sure.”
For the first time then Myoden seemed to notice her appearance, and she saw his eyes widening. It lasted only a few brief moments, though, before the priest schooled his features back into benign concern. Dulcea’s cheeks burned. Barefooted and dressed in torn clothes, she looked more like a dirty waif from the streets of some big Sraeynian city than the legendary Golden Dragonmistress.
“Corda!” He waved at one of his subordinates. “For Lordanys’s sake, bring the lady some clothes!”
The man named Corda brought her a pair of boots, a leather vest, and a cloak. She accepted them with fervent gratitude and donned them at once.
She thought of the tens of thousands throughout West Ford who had seen her like this—half naked, dirty, and clothed in tatters. They would talk, and it would only strengthen her story, and hopefully admiration would keep the leering to a minimum.
His voice dropped to a low tone. “You mean… there are lapses in your memory? How big are they?”
“I remember next to nothing.”
The healer considered this, a look of unveiled alarm on his countenance.
“Would you consent to a private examination, my lady?” He glanced away, swallowing. “You might be more comfortable telling Cleric Arissa what you remember…”
Dulcea felt like she both blushed and blanched at realizing the intention behind the priest’s words.
“I assure you there is no need for that. I have nothing to say to her I couldn’t say to you.”
He cleared his throat. “You are… unharmed?”
“Yes. No one laid a finger on me in the manner you fear.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to upset you.” His subservient tone could not hide his happiness.
“I am not upset,” she said. “You are just doing your duty, regardless of who I am. As a healer, you must ask. I would not be the first woman to fall into this in enemy hands.”
It was the cold, hard truth of war. Combat was not the only way to terrorize the enemy. Dulcea was dead set against such tactics and exampled any wrongdoers she found, but it did not stop the occasional crime against the unfortunate local populace. Sometimes hunger, opportunity, or grief simply made a thug out of an otherwise good but a desperate man. They were not conquerors but liberators. Murder of civilians, pillaging, looting, destruction of property, and rape were the Saruseans’ style, not theirs.
She forbade torture and sexual assault on Sarusean prisoners. They, she feared, had no such qualms.
He nodded. “Then we will continue this discussion as generals of the army?”
She agreed. “Yes, in the War Tent, as soon as we locate Nian.”
Dulcea turned to go, but Myoden fished out something from a pocket in his healer’s robes. It was an elegant silver necklace with a shimmery white stone attached to it. It was her moonstone pendant, Dulcea realized with some happy bewilderment. She had received it from her mother a long time ago and wore it to all official functions as part of her regalia. Dulcea had assumed it lost in the Sarusean base.
She opened her mouth to question him about it, but his next words made her pale.
“This is yours, I believe. Lord Delbin gave it to me for safekeeping.”
Chapter 13
A Truth Hidden
Dulcea stared at the moonstone pendant dangling from Myoden’s fingers.
She tried to keep her voice level. “Lord Delbin… How did he receive it?”
Dulcea yearned to tell him everything right there and then, but she needed to get him alone first. Delbin had not acted alone. Others had supported his cause, Dulcea reminded herself, looking at the harried healers and feeling a cold dread within her. Any Silver Elf could have been his accomplice. Who could she trust now? Amparo Darksun would tell no one outside his clan what she had said, and no one apart from the generals needed to know until they had considered the matter.
The priest fisted his free hand. “Because of your… mutual understanding?”
“What? That’s preposterous!” Dulcea flushed with anger. “He made me an offer, yes, but I have no recollection of ever being tempted by it.”
“You mean… he offered you himself?” The high priest sounded incredulous.
Their people considered it disrespectful for a suitor to approach his intended bride on his own. Even when there was no family member to act as a negotiator, most considered a direct approach akin to insulting the lady’s House. In the rare cases where an otherwise decent suitor lacked any family, it was customary for them to request an intermediary from the Order of Lordanys.
“Yes. He acted outside the book.” Dulcea wrinkled her nose to express her distaste. “Whatever my feelings for them, I would never accept a direct offer from anyone. That is why I find his claim so ludicrous. Despite the war, I am still a noble lady at heart, raised to think of my House before my own desires.”
The priest looked somewhat calmer but still not at ease. Dulcea realized what he feared: that Delbin had enthralled her, making her forget the honor of her House.
“Lord Delbin mentioned you and he were… discussing your nuptials when the Saruseans surprised you in the western woods.” His voice shook a little from the effort to will it impartial. “He claims you both fought with valor, but to no avail. He says they took you with them, tearing you from his arms, and knocked him
unconscious. All that remained was the moonstone pendant in his grasp, torn from your neck in one last desperate attempt to steal you back.”
“And none of this sounded odd to you?” Dulcea seethed. “A walk in the woods, alone?”
She fixed him with a hard stare and allowed her indignation to show.
“You know me better than that, Myoden.”
He did not cringe. His eyes held a look of sorrowful resignation.
“Yes. That is why. How was I to know? You should have protected yourself, but you never do. You have always been stubborn, and I know you value your independence. We’ve all seen it: you dismiss your guards more often than not. Reason tells me you would not take such a risk, but experience tells me otherwise. Lord Delbin is a skilled fighter—he is one of my best men in battle. If you were… in love with him, it might cause you to overlook the danger of a secret tryst in the forest.”
Dulcea paled. The words were familiar, and the truth hurt. What had Krath told her? You brought about your own downfall… She had already admitted to him her foolishness, but it hurt even worse to hear the same from Myoden.
“I am not in love with him.” She raised her chin in defiance. “And even if I were, I would not be as foolish as to go traipsing about the countryside with him after dark.”
Myoden had feelings for her that surpassed friendship; it was no secret to her. The priest was a good man, and had Dulcea wanted to marry, he would have been an ideal spouse. He was honorable, intelligent, and strong, but there was the problem of her own feelings on the matter.
It was rare for girls to have any say about their future. If they were lucky, the new brides might find their husbands desirable, and if not—well, it gave them security at least. While only a lower nobleman by birth himself, Myoden enjoyed immense wartime popularity, and any noble House would have called it an honor to have him join their family.
It was unfortunate Myoden was not better at hiding his attraction to her. He was always the perfect gentleman and never asked her for anything, but his partiality for her was obvious to anyone who paid it even the slightest attention. Delbin had targeted Myoden on purpose. The bastard had known where to hit, trusting jealousy to blind the warrior priest’s good judgment.
---
Avarea, Sarusean dominion of Dala. Mead Moon (summer season 7092).
The sixth year of the Rebellion.
Dulcea sighed, clasping her hands behind her neck and staring up at the azure sky above. Myoden sat beside her on the white marble bench, resting his head in his hands.
Dulcea glanced at her companion from the corner of her eye. “You don’t suppose the world would deign to sit still if we never left this garden?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “We can hope.”
“It’s been three months since we came here.” Dulcea rubbed her arms around herself.
“That’s three months we’ll never get back.” The priest sat up straight, glancing toward the castle. “I want to feel cheated by King Endrad, but he never made us any promises. We cannot blame him. He has a comfortable life here, undisturbed by war. We all knew Avarea would be a challenge. King Endrad did what he considered best for his country.”
“A country run by the Saruseans!” She gripped the bench in anger.
“You need to give him a little credit, my lady,” Myoden said. “He has his way of doing things, and you have yours. The Sarusean bloodline here is waning: I mean, it has been six hundred years. I think it was a brilliant move from him to marry off his daughter to the local Sarusean lord. It ensures his bloodline will again rise to the throne. I guess there is some twisted logic to it?”
Dulcea gritted her teeth. “That’s what I’m worried about. His plans… Here’s this man who rather plays friend to the Saruseans than rises to demand independence for his country. How are we ever going to get him to give up on the only future he knows? That man grasps neither the concept of liberty nor freedom.”
She let out a breath, uncurling her fingers from around the stone and folding her hands in her lap.
Dulcea averted her gaze. “I dread our inevitable return to Dranmore. I fear what they will say.”
Myoden shifted closer to her on the bench. “Stop doubting yourself.”
He smoothed her hair away from her face. Dulcea froze, unsure of his intentions.
“Myoden?” Her cheeks flushed with warmth. “W-what are you doing…?”
“You are a courageous lady.” He touched his fingers to her chin, directing her gaze to meet his. “No one will think any less of you for this. It is not your failure. Hai’Mezene couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it.”
His thumb stroked her cheek. His breath came out a little too fast. Her stomach twisted in a strange, tantalizing way. Dulcea swallowed. The look in Myoden’s eyes was unmistakable. He intended to kiss her.
It was a long time ago since she had last kissed anyone. Fenwer, at the White Tower, she thought. A look of apprehension flitted across her countenance. She was nervous, like a young girl awaiting her first kiss. Myoden smiled, searching for acceptance in her eyes. Dulcea inhaled, not knowing what to do. She had not known to suspect him of partiality to her until now, but in that context, a lot of his reactions were suddenly making sense.
Myoden was honorable and attractive. She liked him; it would not be so bad if she let him kiss her. Dulcea took a deep breath and closed her eyes, parting her lips a little. She did not have to love him to enjoy being kissed by him, and they were both intelligent enough to know where the unspoken line went. Myoden whispered her name, leaning ever closer, and his breath ghosted over her lips.
Just then someone cleared their throat in a loud, exaggerated manner. Dulcea turned her head in surprise, and Myoden’s lips graced her jawline.
---
Dulcea pocketed the moonstone pendant, a deep frown creasing her brows.
“When did you last see Lord Delbin?” She forced the title out of her mouth for propriety’s sake.
Their tiny corner of the hospital was empty, but they were not alone. The place had paper-thin walls; even the important patients’ wing lacked soundproofing magic in case they needed to call for help.
“Yesterday evening, I think?” The warrior priest shrugged.
A mere half a day ago! Dulcea reeled from the shock. Was she to understand that Delbin might have still been among her men at camp when she arrived this morning? Could she perhaps have rushed past him in the crowd, ignorant of his being there? Was he insane, or had he no idea the Saruseans had lost her?
Dulcea turned on her heel and ran.
Myoden rushed after her. “Wait! Where are we going? My shift isn’t—”
He panted, his long white robe billowing around him in the gusty Usvameerian spring winds. It was clear he had trouble keeping up with her fast, angry steps in his constricting healer’s clothes, but Dulcea could not bring herself to slow down.
“We’ll see if that arrogant fool is still around and have him arrested if so!”
He drew in a sharp breath. “Lord Delbin, you mean?”
“Do not call him that! He deserves no such courtesy!”
The news when they reached the tent where he bunked with seven others was as expected. No one had seen Delbin since the previous night. His superior, the commander of the company whose one group Delbin captained, told them he had not reported for duty that morning. Two of his comrades-in-arms from the same tent were also missing.
That was two of his cohorts accounted for—how many more, she wondered.
She and Myoden returned to the hospital. Dulcea waited outside, chatting with curious passers-by, while the priest went to pick up a few items. Afterward they headed to the War Tent. People had already started to gather in its vicinity, and Dulcea promised to address them within the next hour. Nemnyan stood up when they entered. He rushed to meet them in the doorway, halted so fast he almost stumbled, ran a hand through his copper hair, and then at last gave Dulcea a quick hug.
Dulcea laughed. “How good to see y
ou, Nian!”
She explained the situation to Nemnyan after the three of them took seats.
“I didn’t want to say this earlier, given the Hospital Tent has no soundproofing, but what I said about Delbin was untrue. I do remember. He is not innocent of any crime.”
“I kind of figured that out.” Myoden gave a grim nod. “How is he involved in your disappearance?”
“Delbin requested a formal audience with me on the night of my disappearance and told me his plan. He intended to do away with Emperor Greymex and to rule in his stead. He wanted me to become his empress.”
“That is treason! To kill the emperor! How could he think for that to work?”
Dulcea took a deep breath. “He knows about Grom. He knows we think he is the Red Dragonlord.”
Both Myoden and Nemnyan looked alarmed. It was clear they had expected something else.
“He made a deal with the Saruseans.” She scoffed. “He was to convince me to return the peoples of Caeryn back to slavery. As a reward, the Saruseans were to spare the Silverwoods from destruction, and they would also raise Delbin as their vassal emperor on its throne.”
She frowned and pursed her lips, thrumming her fingers on the table.
“Failing that,” Dulcea said, making a contemptuous sound. “He was to hand me over to the Saruseans and still get his crown. The Saruseans would then crush what stragglers remained after my death.”
Myoden sighed. “I suppose I understand why he had to make it seem like you and he had formed an understanding. Delbin filed for a formal audience—that leaves a record. It would have looked bad if he had claimed nonattendance, and someone had testified seeing you with him.”
“But betrothal? That seems… well, extreme.” Nemnyan scratched his cheek. “Why didn’t he just claim official business?”
“And what would he have said, had any of you asked him to prove it?” Dulcea raised an eyebrow. “For future reference, though, let him be the last haughty crook you think me in love with.”
The smith laughed. Myoden colored and looked away in embarrassment.
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