Charlon

Charlon stood at the railing on the foredeck, studying the island. Still stunned the Chieftess had abandoned her. Left her to deal with this alone. Magon had wanted them to work together. But Mreegan had become impatient. Such behavior was shameful. That Mreegan would walk away from the great shadir’s plans.

She was not worthy to lead Magonia.

But perhaps this division was necessary. A step that brought Charlon closer to becoming Chieftess. When Charlon succeeded, Mreegan would be sorry. Would regret having doubted Charlon.

Wilek had gone ashore. Without a word to his betrothed. Charlon knew the land was important to everyone’s survival. She still found his devotion to his betrothed pathetic. He hadn’t spoken to Charlon in three days.

What to do? Magon had been cryptic of late. Answered all of Charlon’s questions with proverbs and encouragements. Keep trying, Magon had said. Have faith in me. But Charlon didn’t want to try anymore. Didn’t want to have faith. Didn’t know what she wanted.

To sit inside her tent with Torol. Yes, that would do.

Only she had no tent now that they were at sea. And Torol was on the Magonian ship. With Mreegan. Jealousy surged within, but she calmed herself. She must focus.

But why? What if Mreegan and Magon were wrong about the Deliverer? Maybe the prophecy no longer applied now that there was no land to subdue. What would be the point? Of ruling a fleet of ships with no harbor?

Still. She needed the title of Chieftess. Then no one could hurt her again. And all would respect her. She would be powerful. Yet rule with wisdom and compassion.

But not until she succeeded in her quest.

Perhaps on the island Prince Wilek would be more relaxed. Now that they’d found land, there might be a celebration. With dancing and drink. She couldn’t risk being absent. The one night he went looking for a woman’s company.

Charlon started back to her cabin. She would pack her second black dress. Go ashore. The distance from ship to land was much closer than Fairsight Manor had been to Castle Everton. She should have no trouble maintaining Lady Zeroah’s mask. She would have to leave the girl in the trunk for a few days, though. She pushed the guilt aside. She had no choice.

She prepared quickly. Instructed some servants to carry her things to the boat fall. Bid they erect her tent beside Prince Wilek’s. Once they’d gone, she hid the bronze canister of ahvenrood in a cupboard and set a spell over the corridor outside her door.

Anyone who came looking for this cabin would forget why.

The boat ride to the island was tedious, as was trudging through the sand and tall grass to reach her tent, which, when she arrived, was not yet assembled. A valid enough reason to visit Prince Wilek. Then she discovered the distance. Her tent was being set up far from his. In an entirely separate clearing.

She fought to pull her skirts through the long grass. Dreamed of wearing a kasah again. Had made it halfway down the narrow path when someone called Lady Zeroah’s name. Charlon looked up. Found an adolescent boy coming her way. She had never seen him before. But the size of his smile was proof: They were more than acquaintances.

“It has been so long,” he said, his voice still a child’s. He was well built for his age. Wore a sword and fine clothing.

Charlon curtsied, curious as to the boy’s identity.

He laughed. “So formal. Surely an embrace is appropriate for a brother, yes?”

Ah. This wiry youth must be the mysterious Lord Rystan. “Weren’t you on another ship?”

“I was. Sâr Wilek summoned me aboard the Seffynaw. I’m to take Mother’s place on the Wisean Council.”

Heat flashed over Charlon. “You? Why not me? I’m older.”

He looked confused. “I didn’t ask for the position. I assumed you, as the sâr’s wife, would have conflicting interests.”

Charlon relaxed. “That must have been the reasoning.”

This realm had too many rules. Especially for women. No surprise they accomplished little. Hope surged, though, to hear someone refer to her as the sâr’s wife. Perhaps Prince Wilek was planning the wedding. Maybe she would awake one day to a summons to the altar.

She sought a polite dismissal. “It was nice to see you again, brother. Sâr Wilek awaits my arrival in his tent. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“We shall have plenty of time to talk now that I will be on the Seffynaw.” Lord Rystan did not move out of her way. Opened his arms wide and grinned. Dashing little monster. She leaned forward. Allowed him to grab her waist. Stiffened at the fierceness of his embrace. Patted two fingers against his shoulder. The compulsion she had placed on herself to remove her fear of human touch did its job well enough. But her mind always reminded her that touch was dangerous.

Lord Rystan finally let go. Walked off, waving joyfully. “Until dinner, dear sister.”

Charlon tramped on through the grass. Lamenting yet another complication to her role as Lady Zeroah. She needed to finish her mission, and soon.

She finally reached the clearing. Beheld the royal tents of King Echad, Prince Wilek, Prince Janek. A large meeting tent in the distance. She nodded at the guards outside and entered Wilek’s tent. Found him in a meeting with his brother Janek. Also present were Sir Jayron, Lord Dacre, and Wilek’s backman.

Charlon stiffened at the sight of Harton. Run, her heart said.

But her mind said, No. She had to stay. Had to take her place at Prince Wilek’s side, despite her hatred for his backman.

The tent looked similar to Wilek’s cabin aboard the Seffynaw. His father’s large desk had been brought over. As had Wilek’s bed, two longchairs, several stools, a sideboard table, and a changing screen. The princes were standing a great deal apart from the others. She focused on their conversation. They were discussing traitors. Again.

“Yes, I know many of them,” Janek said, perusing a scroll.

“But you didn’t know they planned to attack Father and me?”

“Of course not! I have had more than enough trouble from the mutinous behavior of my acquaintances. I cannot help it if they are zealous on my behalf and choose to break the law. I want nothing to do with their treason. And I have never encouraged it.”

“Why do they persist? We have no land to rule. No Castle Everton or Seacrest to fight over. We have nothing but ships.”

Janek shrugged. “I have no idea what goes on in their deranged minds.”

“They shall all of them be executed before we leave the islan—” Wilek noticed her. “Lady Zeroah, good midday. I did not know you had come to the island. Why aren’t you enjoying first sleep?”

She curtsied. “I was eager to have solid ground under my feet. And my tent is not yet assembled. Would you mind if I waited here?”

“Not at all. Your brother Lord Rystan is on the island. I will call him.”

“I have already seen him.”

“Oh, good. You, uh . . . have none of your maids with you?”

“I left them at the tent. To see it properly set up.” She winced inside, hoping that sounded noble.

“Surely you lovers don’t want me about,” Janek said, walking toward her and the exit. “We will give you some privacy.” He stopped before Charlon. She curtsied to him. “What a pretty dress, lady.” A glance to Wilek over his shoulder. “My brother is a lucky man.”

“Janek, we are not through yet,” Wilek said.

“I’ve told you I know nothing of this situation. Kill them all, if you feel you must. They’ve brought it upon themselves.” Janek inclined his head to Charlon. “Lady Zeroah.”

She curtsied again. “Good midday, Sâr Janek,” she said, regarding him thoughtfully as he quitted the tent. Sir Jayron and Lord Dacre followed him. Perhaps Mreegan was right. She had likely put her efforts into snaring the wrong man.

To Charlon’s great relief, Harton slipped out with the other men. Wilek did not notice this until the door curtain fell closed. He sighed heavily. Walked toward his desk, which was laden with scrolls. He pushed them aside. Looking for something. “Allow me to ring Harton back, lady. It isn’t proper for us to be unchaperoned.”

Charlon spied the bell on her side of the table and snatched it up. It betrayed her with a soft clink that caught Wilek’s attention. He reached out. She tucked the bell behind her back.

“Sâr Wilek, please. We are both adults. We are betrothed. If not for the Five Woes, we would have been wed these past few weeks. Let us not stand on ceremony. I simply want to sit with you. Talk without the awkwardness of a chaperone. Especially your backman.”

“I don’t see why Harton bothers you, lady. He has always served me loyally, and was a great help in this midday’s attack.”

“An attack? Who would dare?”

“We think they were a part of Rogedoth’s mantic cult.”

Oh, the dreaded cult again. Prince Wilek was obsessed with it. Charlon decided to press more against Harton. “Are you so certain Master Harton is not part of this cult?”

“I am positive.”

“But you said he lied to you. Lying to a prince is treason.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, lady.”

Not Harton. “Perhaps, but some things are unforgivable.”

“Did Harton interfere with you in some way?”

Oh, if he only knew. But perhaps this was how she might be rid of him. She asked Magon to help her produce tears. “He has never done anything obvious, Your Highness. It’s the way he looks at me.”

Wilek stepped toward her, brow pinched. “How?”

She leaned against his arm. Rested her head on his shoulder. “Let us talk of something else. Choose a date to marry. I want to bear you a son. So that no man will ever be tempted to raise a sword against you.”

“I have told you that we will marry once we reach land.”

“But we are on land this moment!”

“True, but I’m afraid we cannot stay here. It is too small. We plan to leave a colony and continue north. Our hope is that this island is the first of many. We might find our new home any day. And I promise you that I will put our—”

And then he came back inside. Charlon stiffened. Get away, her heart said. Protect within.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Harton said, glancing briefly at Charlon. Not recognizing her of course. “The king is asking to see you.”

“I must go.” Wilek took Charlon’s hands. Looked into her eyes. “Lady, we will marry within a week of finding our new home. That is all I can promise for now.” He kissed both of her hands and released them. Walked away with him.

And Charlon was left alone. Again.

What kind of a man refused the pleasures of the flesh? If Charlon had not felt the passion in Prince Wilek’s kiss back when she wore Lady Lebetta’s mask, she might believe that he preferred men.

But no. He preferred his memories. Charlon doubted he would ever get over that Lebetta woman.

Enough. Charlon was finished. Finished wasting time. Finished waiting. She would visit Prince Janek. Tonight.