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Five weeks had passed since Crispin’s departure. Autumn cooled to the point that there was a bite to the chill in the air. More trees were bare of leaves than not. Still, I prayed and hoped as I worked.
The library became my haven. Taking up the task of repairing the books Crispin had left untouched, I made steady progress under Brackenhurst’s watchful eye. When I wasn’t working on books, I read them or sewed with the duchess. I attempted to clean a couple times, but after a mild scolding by the maid tasked with caring for the library, I let the idea go. With Faramond’s sudden departure two weeks’ past, my social circle shrank significantly. I spoke only to the duke and duchess, the servant who fetched my meals to and fro, and the lady’s maid that insisted on dressing me and fixing my hair every morn. No one else dared to interrupt my silent vigil of hard work and prayer.
That was until the morning after the first freeze.
A distant thumping on the massive doors below interrupted my study of Saruthian verbs. Spending the morning compiling a makeshift grammar for the duke had become my latest project. I ignored the sound. Brackenhurst left the door unlocked since the castle was secure and no one wandered free unless they were trusted.
A few moments later, the doors opened. An icy wind blew up the stairwell, causing me to tuck my slippers farther under the blanket covering my lap.
“Greetings!” a male voice, deep and resonant, boomed through the hall below.
I debated for a brief second the option of not answering. “Up here.”
Heavy footfalls crossed to the stairs. As he became visible around the turn in the stair, I was surprised to discover he was a stranger. A well-dressed stranger in superbly woven wool and elegant velvets, his rank as at least a nobleman struck me immediately. A ruffled mass of curly blond hair covered his head. His alert, dark-brown eyes took in the room at a glance.
Showing the proper deference as befitted meeting a man of rank, I rose to my feet, pulling my blanket aside to drape over my chair. “My lord.” I offered him a curtsey as he reached the top of the stair.
“Ryda?” His gaze studied my features intently as though he would read the answer there.
“I am she.”
“Praise the Kurios.” Then to my great surprise, he crossed to me and embraced me in a firm hug before hastily retreating again. “The Kurios has finally answered our prayers.”
“Although it appears that you know me, I am not so enlightened.”
“Henrik Lowellyn, Count of Corewill,” he recited with a hand to his chest. Then, he executed a perfect bow.
I knew that name. “My brother?” I had forgotten I had a brother until I read about it weeks ago. It had been a welcome idea then. However, now that I was in his presence, the idea was more unnerving than comforting.
“Half-brother by blood, full by heart.” He flashed me a wry half smile. “I swore undying fealty to you the day you were born, much to our father’s amusement. He might have found it amusing, but I didn’t. So, when word came that you had been found, I insisted on being the one to come.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He towered over me by half a foot or so of slender intensity. His body seemed to hum with it.
“Thank you.” It came out small and weak.
He grinned. “Polite as always. I am delighted to find that my early training of you has held through all these years. Now, if only you had fulfilled your promise to me as well.”
Bemused, I stared at him. “What promise?”
“You swore you would grow taller than I.”
Blinking up at him, I struggled to find words to respond. “When did I make this promise?”
“No more than four years of age, by my memory.”
“Hardly an age to know enough of the way of things enough to make such an assertion,” I protested. The amused twinkle in the count’s eyes was most unnerving. He appeared to be purposefully attempting to get me to smile. I was sorely tempted but also determined not to give in to my inclination.
“You were most insistent,” he assured me with a grin.
My mouth twitched as I tried not to respond. “And you had to come search me out?”
“Yes. How else was I to see for myself if you followed through on your promise?”
“As you can see, I have failed miserably.”
The count crossed his arms and assessed me from head to toe before declaring, “I will forgive you, but only this once.”
“Understood.” I gave in to the smile. “Were you always this amusing as a big brother?”
“Always.” He scanned the room and then homed in on the chair across the worktable from mine. Settling into the seat, he rested his arms on the table. “Where is your rescuer? Now that I have seen that you are well and whole, I need to thank the man who delivered you from that fiend’s prison.”
“You will have to go far to do that, my lord.”
“No.” He extended a long finger and wagged it slightly in my direction. “We are siblings. I am Henrik, or if you insist on regressing to your four-year-old self, Hen.” He winced dramatically at the shortened nickname.
“My rescuer is not here, Henrik.” I emphasized his name, earning a smug look of satisfaction.
“Whyever not, dear sis?”
“He had to return home to Areyuthia.” I didn’t know how much Brackenhurst had disclosed in his letter, but I suspected Crispin’s true familial connections hadn’t been included.
“So he stole you and then dumped you at the first opportunity. One would think he objected to countesses.”
“No,” I protested. “He didn’t know I was a countess until after we came here.”
“You and the man traveled alone?” Henrik’s gaze narrowed. “What is his name? Brackenhurst refused to disclose it.”
“Crispin Winder.”
“Sounds like a shady character.” He leaned back in his seat and propped his elbows on the chair’s arms. Folding his hands, he peered at me over them. “I suppose I shall have to track him down.”
I peered at him, not sure how to take his declaration. Was he teasing or in earnest? What did he intend to do to Crispin?
“Crispin Winder rescued me from Duke Worthenave’s library prison and escorted me with his servant lad, Pip, the whole journey here. He has been nothing except an honorable man, protecting my reputation and me. He funded our trip from his own pocket and never neglected to provide for my care and safety.”
Henrik studied my face for a long moment.
Suddenly, he sat up. “What you are saying is that the man is a model of chivalry and honor.”
“Yes.”
“And I should be thankful to him for his service.”
“If you feel you should be, then yes. I know I am very thankful for his kindness.”
Henrik’s frowned. “Hmm... When does he return?”
My stomach sank. “I don’t know.”
“But you want him to.”
“Yes.” I avoided his gaze, but he didn’t waver in his scrutiny.
“It appears I shall regain my sister and then lose her within a day.”
“I am not lost.”
“No?” He pointed at my face. “You love this man.”
“I—”
“No, don’t deny it. I saw exactly that look in Trea’s eyes right before she and her beloved requested Father’s permission to marry.”
“Who is Trea?” I asked, hoping to distract him.
“Your sister, but that is neither here nor there.” He waved at my face again. “You want the same thing. Within a few weeks, you will be asking to marry the man. Is he a man of industry? Trea’s betrothed is about as useful as a bump on a log.”
“The situation isn’t straightforward.”
“He doesn’t want you?”
My heart stuttered in horror. “I think he does, but he hasn’t spoken in those terms.”
“Fool.”
“He isn’t free to speak of such things,” I protested.
“Married?”
“No.”
“Poor?” Henrik grunted. “We could fix that.”
“No, at least I don’t think so. It isn’t that.”
“Pledged to another?”
Exasperation got the better of me. “Will you just let me speak, and I will tell you?”
He flashed me an impish grin. “Guessing is so much more fun. Does he have a price on his head?”
“Now you are grasping for straws.”
“It has to be something serious, or he wouldn’t be able to resist such a lovely creature as you.”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and suddenly I had endured my limit. “Hen.”
“Hmm?”
“Be still, and I will tell you.”
To my amazement, he did just that. Straightening in his seat, he bestowed a patient and attentive smile on his face and stilled his fidgeting hands.
“He swore to his father he wouldn’t marry a countess of the seven duchies. Until his father releases him from his oath, he is honor-bound to not let me hope for what cannot be. He—” My voice caught. I cleared my throat and forced myself to finish. “He has gone home to beg for his father’s mercy in this matter.”
“To Areyuthia?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Might he be one of the duke’s sons?”
I met his gaze in surprise.
“The strange pact Areyuthia demands of his sons isn’t completely unknown, despite his efforts to keep the details from the rest of the duchies.” Henrik’s expression grew weary and sympathetic. “That truly is a mess, little sister.”
To my surprise, my eyes teared up at his gentle tone. Blinking back the moisture to no avail, I dug into my sleeve for my handkerchief. However, Henrik produced one first and offered it. It smelled of vanilla and oranges when I pressed it to my cheek.
He stood. “Don’t worry. Not all is lost. Brackenhurst assures me that the wandering scribe will return. And the duke is rarely wrong.”
I smiled weakly as I offered his handkerchief back. “I haven’t lost hope.”
“Good.” He pocketed the moist square with a grin. “Give us time, and Brackenhurst and I are bound to come up with something before I have to return home.”
A distant gong resounded through the bailey outside, signaling the coming meal.
“Come.” Henrik stood and offered me his arm. “We have a great deal to catch up on before we can even begin truly discussing the future.”
I accepted his escort down the stairs.
~~~~~
A WEEK IN HENRIK’S company passed quickly. Whether by the power of his personality or his persistent determination that we would be best of friends, I found myself quite attached to his company by the end of a sennight. In that time, I had learned much of my long-lost family.
I had sisters, two younger ones. They had been barely babes when I disappeared. Despite Henrik’s aversion to discussing the event, I found out I had been abducted when only six years of age from the nursery of the winter palace. They had feared many things, including me wandering off. After extensive searching and hiring of the best trackers in the kingdoms, they finally gave up looking but never of hoping.
“How do you read this gibberish?” Henrik asked one especially cold evening. The pair of us had been invited to spend the evening with the duke, duchess, and Count Faramond, who was newly returned from searching for his siblings.
“Saruthian,” I informed him bluntly, “is not gibberish.”
“Cryptic, obtuse, and difficult.” Brackenhurst glanced up from my latest contributions to his grammar. “But never gibberish.” Returning the pages to the stack nearly an inch thick, he nodded to my work. “They composed poetry, wrote about politics and strategy and, my personal favorite, history.”
“Which topic is your favorite?” Henrik asked me as he eyed the open copy of Ruthian’s letters next to my notes.
“At the moment, Ruthian’s correspondence, but I am looking forward to translating the histories. Brackenhurst has a few I haven’t seen before.” I glanced at the duke, who grinned.
“Your sister is quite the academic.” Brackenhurst rose to his feet and crossed to the fire at my back to stoke the flames. “I am considering hiring her to translate everything in my library. At the rate she is going, I suspect it will only take her a few years of steady work.”
“Ah, but then there are the words that I don’t know,” I protested. “Just glancing at the histories makes me wish I knew more.”
The duke laughed a soft, bittersweet chuckle. “All the more reason to have you translate them. I will never have time to do it myself.” He leaned on the mantel and gazed lovingly over at his wife.
Lady Grace sat in a cushion-covered chair a short way from the fire. A heavy shawl covered her shoulders and crossed over her front, effectively hiding her growing belly. Her hands held a yarn project made with soft wool that begged to be touched. At the moment, she held it loosely as she focused on her conversation with Faramond.
“What other talents have you developed in your captivity, sis?” Henrik inquired glibly as he nudged one of my books out of alignment with the others. “Painting?”
“Only rudimentary.”
“Embroidery?”
“Sewing basics,” I corrected.
“Weaving?”
“I made a tapestry or two,” I admitted, recalling the one of a garden I had been reluctant to leave behind.
“Music?”
“She plays the lute,” Brackenhurst interjected with amusement as he eyed the pair of us in turn.
“Poorly,” I clarified.
“Beautifully,” Brackenhurst countered.
“Clearly, you learned to read and write.” Henrik jutted his chin toward my neatly written notes.
“She also knows how to bind, repair, and maintain a library of books.”
“What did Worthenave want from you? A captive librarian?”
“Until I was of age to bear children.”
Suddenly, the air became thick with tension. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, measured breath. My hands began to tremble on the page. I lay down my quill and moved my hands to my lap beneath the table and out of sight.
“He didn’t touch you, did he?” Henrik’s voice had changed. Without its humor, it sounded uncharacteristically harsh in the heavy silence of the room. Only then did I realize that Faramond and Grace had ceased speaking. I lifted my chin to find them both listening raptly.
“He didn’t assault me in that way, though there were many times he threatened.” I squashed the inclination to touch my face where he had last “touched” me. “There were other kinds of contact.”
“Oh, Ryda.” The anguish in Henrik’s voice finally brought my attention to him. The pain in his gaze reflected dimly in the features of the others in the room. “I am sorry I wasn’t there to help, to stop it, defend you.” He reached across the table to claim my hand in a brotherly gesture of affection.
I lowered my gaze to the table, blinking to fight back the moisture gathering in my eyes. “None of you could stop what you didn’t know was happening. The fault lies solely at the feet of Count Rodney and his father.”
“Which begs the question, how are we going to prevent it from happening again?” my brother asked. “What are your plans, Ryda?”
“What?” I frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“You can’t stay here.” Henrik declared this at the same time that Brackenhurst said, “She is welcome here as long as she wishes to stay.”
“Don’t leave us, Ryda,” Grace protested. “I was hoping you would stay...” Her hands strayed to her middle, but she redirected them to her wool instead. Meeting Brackenhurst’s gaze across the room, she exchanged a loaded look with him. “Please ask her to stay.”
“But she can’t remain here forever,” Henrik protested. “She belongs in Corewill.”
“I am not sure I do.” The words fell from my mouth before I realized I was speaking.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as almost everyone turned to me. I wished I could kick my brother for insisting on discussing this topic amid the group. I had purposefully been avoiding dwelling on the fact I needed to decide what to do should Crispin not return.
“I—” A panicky sensation formed in my chest. “I don’t know.” After straightening the pages before me, I capped the inkwell next to them to reduce the risk of a spill.
“Are you sure about that?” Faramond asked. “Your previous statement seemed to indicate you did.”
A knock on the door interrupted the intensity that followed. Brackenhurst moved to answer. Whatever the matter was, he left to see to it. Faramond took his place at the fireplace, adding wood to the fire. My brother remained where he was, studying my face intently as he held on to my hand.
“I will have to return to Corewill eventually, Ryda. Our father is aged. The only thing that restrained him from coming himself was his health. Your mother hasn’t left his side for months, but she also longs to be reunited with you. And your sisters... my wife, my children...” Even as he stumbled over his plea, the realization that I might not return to Corewill dawned on his face.
“I am sorry, Henrik.” The pressure of pent-up emotion made my chest ache. “Please pardon me,” I whispered as I rose and quickly curtseyed. As I approached the door, it came open to reveal the duke returning.
“Lady Ryda, I believe this is for you.” He offered me a paper-wrapped package.
Instinctively, I accepted it.
“What is wrong?” Brackenhurst bent to study my face, but I couldn’t abide another person trying to discern what even I couldn’t understand.
I pressed past him and into the corridor. Fleeing to my chamber, I fell through the door, closing it behind me. I stumbled to the bed and buried my face in the blankets, gasping to breathe past the ache of the sobs caught in my throat.
I didn’t regain my composure until an hour or more later when the young woman who attended me had timidly come and gone, leaving light and food in her wake. Finally, pulling myself from the bed, I wet my face in the basin of clean water kept in the corner for that purpose.
Oh, Kurios, what do I do? Stay in Mereline and keep the duke’s library for him? Go to Corewill and take the risk of meeting my family and them constraining me to remain? Bargain for an escort and go after Crispin and risk rejection when I found him?
That last one held the most appeal. Even if I reached Areyuthia only for Crispin to reject me, I would know.
I wearied of waiting. After so many years of practicing patience while in my tower, I was growing impatient now that I didn’t have walls and the threat of physical harm holding me back. I wanted to know Crispin’s answer, even if it was negative. Oh, how I hoped and prayed it wasn’t, but if it was, I would survive. I would mourn and then move forward. There were alternatives, friends, family, and places to make my home.
Still, I wanted to make a home with Crispin. He remained my first choice.
Crossing to the food-laden tray on the bed, I reached for a piece of cheese only to hesitate as my gaze fell on the package that Brackenhurst had thrust into my hands as I fled. Crispin’s elegant, clear handwriting on the brown paper made me pause.
He didn’t forget me.
Untying the twine and unwrapping the paper revealed a thick leather-wrapped tome and a single sheet of paper. My hand went to the page first. Crispin had touched it last.
Lovely honey-haired Ryda,
I hope this missive finds you well. I have reached my father’s house. I cannot return as quickly as I wish, for my father is preoccupied with many trials involving my younger brothers. I endeavor daily to find the opportunity to speak with him on the matter on my heart, but so far, it is for naught. Even should I gain an audience, I doubt he will view my petition favorably considering his current mindset. In light of my delay, I send this book with my brother. He plans to pass through Brackenhurst on his way to Corewill. He promises to deliver this to Brackenhurst, who will be certain to pass it on to you. I hope it helps you pass the hours of waiting in peace.
Until we meet again,
Crispin
The book on my bed drew me. Poetry of the Heart, the title declared in gold-leaf lettering. I opened it and found stanza after stanza of Saruthian poetry, annotated by translations and notes in the margins written in neat, precise handwriting.
In that moment, I knew what I wanted.
