Love’s Enchanted Tales
Book Five
Kimberly A. Rogers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people or entities, living or dead, business establishments, locals, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly A. Rogers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews, without the prior permission of the author and copyright holder.
Cover design by Rachel Rossano
http://rossanodesigns.weebly.com
For everyone whose kindness is their greatest strength
Thank you as always to my family who support my efforts.
I also want to thank my early readers who have been cheering for this story since I first started working on it. Thank you ladies!
Additional shout out to Rachel Rossano for creating a simply magnificent cover. Celena is amazing!
Finally, thank you to my Lord and Savior without whom I am nothing.
“The dragon hunts were disbanded three months past. Yet, we remain in Nereida.”
Celena glanced up from her spinning at her mother’s words. The older woman was pacing about the sitting room, fanning herself. The sunlight caught the glint of her gold bracelets and sapphire ring with the movement. Enid Geraint had always seemed the perfection of a duchess even if she did not favor Queen Vanessa’s penchant for incorporating selkie fashion into the court’s attire. She still wore a formal kirtle with its long tight sleeves and never less than three layers beneath. Her only concession to current fashion was the use of lighter fabrics instead of wool. The duchess continued fanning herself as she fretted, “We should have returned to Hilida as soon as your father was released from his duties.”
“I thought you loved being in Nereida.” Celena adjusted the distaff against her left shoulder and dipped her left fingers in the clay spinning jug, wetting them with grease before returning to the task of drawing out more wool from the distaff. She whirled her spindle with her right hand as she added, “Father told us we would not leave for some time when he first returned.”
“Summers are far more pleasant when spent in the cool hills of Hilida. The coast is too warm.”
Celena glanced at her mother again. The older woman was patting at her veiled hair, silvery blonde strands escaping to curl against her brow. Recognizing the signs of worry, Celena gentled her voice as she said, “You are fretting. The king will not send Father into danger. He is the one who recalled him.”
Her mother stopped patting at her veil and took up her fan once more. “My dear daughter, you have such a simple way of seeing things, but I fear the court may demand more of both our king and your father.”
“They may demand, Wife, but we shall stand firm,” came her father’s firm reply. He smiled at Celena before going to her mother and taking her free hand in his. “Pacing, are we?”
As her mother sighed, Celena stole the chance to observe her parents. They were said to be almost as handsome a couple as King Eric and Queen Vanessa with her silver blonde hair and pale blue eyes complementing his grey hair and eyes. Celena could never remember her father having anything other than grey hair though there were paintings from his boyhood at Hilida Keep that attested he had merely turned grey before his twentieth year. Still, he remained as fit as a young man and was not easy to move to a temper.
“What if the king’s attempts to reestablish contact with the selkies fail? How will our country recover?”
Celena returned her attention to her spinning as she gave the spindle a whirl, twisting the wool and wrapping the fresh length of yarn around the spindle’s staff. Her father seemed untroubled as he replied, “King Eric is determined to succeed. The council will support him despite their doubts.”
Her mother scoffed. “You mean their desire to continue hunting dragons. A fool’s errand. We never should have gone to war with them, Cai.”
“I know, Enid. But, we had no choice.”
Still focused on her spinning, Celena nearly dropped both spindle and distaff when her mother cried out in alarm. She looked up just as her father leapt to his feet, his hand going to his sword. The sun was blocked by something, clouds perhaps, and in the center of the sitting room stood a cloaked and hooded figure. Celena stared at the figure as her father demanded, “Who are you? How did you get into my house? What do you want?”
The figure was silent and Celena felt eyes upon her. A shiver ran up her spine. She tightened her grip on the spindle to keep her hand from shaking. Her father took a step toward the stranger. “I ask you again, stranger. Who are you and why have you come?”
The stranger reached up and drooped her hood, revealing a young woman who could not have been older than Celena’s own one and twenty. Sleek black hair framed a pale face, but her eyes were the same shade as emeralds. Celena looked away from the woman’s emerald gaze with difficulty and found her father had gone ashen. A quick peek at the woman showed her pink lips were faintly curved so they were not quite smiling as she nodded. “You know what I am, do you not, Duke Cai Geraint of Hilida? Good. For you know why I have come.” The hint of a smile vanished as anger burned in those emerald eyes and laced her voice. “You are the leader of all dragon hunts in Aneirin. You are the one who hunted dragons, whether they be nestlings or still in the egg.”
“We had no choice,” the duke stated. “Aneirin was forced to take up arms when the dragons decided to burn our southern villages, and our neighbors threatened to wage war on us if we attempted to remain neutral. We had no choice in the matter.”
“You had a choice and you chose wrongly,” the young woman hissed. “Were I in another form, I would burn you where you stand. This is not the first time Aneirin harmed me. You cannot pretend you did not slaughter innocents who could not defend themselves.”
“I never permitted my men to destroy nests. We only fought the adults.”
“Lies!”
Her father shook his head. “I speak the truth. You should be able to hear it. Those men who defied my orders were punished. But some of the hunt leaders went too far whenever they were away from my command. By the time I learned of what they did, it was too late to stop them.”
The young woman raised her chin, her emerald gaze still blazing with ire. “You were the commander of all dragon hunts. You are responsible for every crime carried out by your men.”
“Aneirin has disbanded the dragon hunts,” her father interjected, fear straining his voice. “Please show a little mercy. We were forced into the war, but we have left off the hunts before any others in the north. King Eric has been sending messengers to the other kingdoms urging them to do the same and to restore peace between the Great Races. Please show a little mercy.”
Celena straightened in her chair as the intruder’s emerald gaze fixed on her. She could not look away as the woman’s voice echoed around her. “The crimes of the Duke of Hilida must be punished for he led the dragon hunts and aided in the slaughter of innocents. However, his punishment shall be to witness the suffering of his family as I witnessed mine. Celena, daughter of Cai and Enid, heiress of Hilida and the House of Geraint, you shall prick your finger on a spindle and be as the dead. For time itself shall march by and you will be forgotten by all. This curse shall bind you to that spindle, so long as the curse remains, you will die should the spindle be destroyed. However, a little mercy I shall grant for Aneirin alone has ended the hunts. In two ways may you be awakened. The kiss of a pure heart will free you from your sleep of death, but only a kiss of truest love shall free you from both sleep and curse.”
The sound of the spindle and distaff falling to the stone floor startled Celena into blinking. The woman was gone. A shadow passed over the windows and she covered her mouth to stop a scream when she caught a glimpse of green scales. By now guards had arrived, and she could hear the bells in the town ringing out the alarm. No doubt, all of Nereida had witnessed the dragon taking flight. Celena rose from her chair, trembling, and stumbled the short distance to where her mother was still on the settee. She threw herself into her mother’s comforting embrace as her mind whirled with the dragoness’ words. A curse. She had been cursed. Shaddai, what am I to do?
It seemed ages passed before the captain of the guard returned to the room, but had likely only been a few moments. She looked up as the man approached her father. Both men looked grave as the captain offered a slight bow. “My lord, the dragon has flown east. Shall I order men to pursue it?”
“No. Aneirin does not hunt for dragons anymore,” her father stated heavily.
He looked at her and opened his mouth to say more, then the captain cleared his throat. When her father waved for the man to speak, he said, “A messenger has arrived bidding you to come to the palace, my lord.”
“Thank you. Now find out how she managed to sneak past your men, Captain.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The captain left at once, but her father did not follow him. Instead, he took Celena’s hand and held it between his two as he knelt before her. His grey gaze was steady and firm as he spoke. “You will not face that cursed fate, daughter. We will find a way to break the curse before it takes hold.”
* * *
Four Years Later
Celena opened the shutters and then braced her hands against the window sill as she leaned out. The cool breeze from the mountains offered relief from the summer heat and toyed with her hair, sending silver blonde strands across her face before she brushed them back again. The scent of the forest surrounding the tower beckoned her and reminded her that hiding away in the farthest corner of Hilida lands was not always a burden. Celena closed her eyes and breathed deeply before she reluctantly withdrew from the window.
It seemed foolish to hide from a curse, but it had been her father’s solution and the best way to appease both his and her mother’s worries had been to agree. Celena smoothed her hands over her pale silver gown. With its light crisp silk, sheer sleeves that did not quite reach past her elbows, and wide bands of beading along the neck and down the front, the gown was the height of the blended selkie and Aneirin fashion for the court . . . and more than a little overdressed for a woman who would not see anyone save her two maids and the guard turned groundskeeper. Yet, Celena had been unable to resist wearing something a little more splendid on the first day of her twenty-fifth year.
She walked around her chamber instead of immediately returning to spinning. After nearly fours years of living in the tower, one would have thought she had grown accustomed to the silence but there were days when she heartily missed her parents. She had begged her father to let her return to Hilida Keep when he first brought news that her mother had been laid low by a wasting sickness in the second year of hiding, but he had refused. She had letters, but they had dwindled to accompanying her father when he came twice a year to change out the servants. Duke Cai no longer trusted many people with the secret of where his daughter had been hidden away.
Celena sighed as she crossed back to the spinning wheel. It had taken her half a year to convince him that she needed to keep spinning. She had been surprised when he not only agreed to allow her to continue but also commissioned a unique wheel for her use. It was not one of the huge wheels with metal tipped spindles like she had seen used by the weavers’ daughters. Rather it was much smaller and made of wood beautifully carved with roses and doves. The distaff was held upright, and the spindle was horizontal at the other end of the wheel. The wheel itself, she was able to turn by hand without coming too near the spindle. Not that she would have been able to prick herself on the blunt wooden spindles the wheel used.
She ran a hand over the wheel then touched the fine strands of flax ready to be spun onto the spindle. The wheel was unique in allowing her to spin much faster than she had ever been able to by hand, but there were some disadvantages. She was often left alone with her thoughts and even switching from wool to flax had not been enough of a distraction. Celena shook her head as the memories of happier times threatened to bring tears. She turned away from the spinning wheel and hurried out of her chamber making her way down the winding stairs.
It was not until the day had grown late that she returned to her chamber at the top of the tower. But it was how she preferred to spend the anniversary of her birth when she was alone, out in the grounds enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of life thriving in the woods around her. She never wandered far for fear of causing the servants undue distress, but the only day worse for staying in the tower was the anniversary of the curse. And, that would not occur for another fortnight.
Celena almost ignored the spinning wheel in favor of reading one of the books Father had brought on his first visit of the year. He would not come again until harvest was ready or nearly over depending on how the crops fared. However, the thought of her father’s last visit only served to bring up the memory of his intent to bring her a suitor. If her father succeeded and the rumors at court had faded enough that a man would risk pursuing her hand, she would need more proof that she was not a woman given to idleness.
She sat on the little stool and dipped her fingers in a jar of water before grasping the flax, wetting the fibers, as she began turning the wheel. Celena hummed a dancing tune as she worked. The familiar rhythm of drawing out the flax, making sure they were properly wetted, while turning the wheel with her free hand was not enough to distract her from the loneliness that threated to sweep her away into a pit of despair. The longer her isolation lasted the more she questioned Shaddai.
She had done nothing wrong to deserve this fate and yet she had spent nearly four years isolated from all save a few servants. At times it felt as though her own parents had abandoned her. Why?
Because of her father’s part in the dragon war? He had done his best to remain a man of honor and yet the dragoness said it was not enough. That he was to be held accountable for the failings of all soldiers in the dragon wars. And, Celena was to bear the brunt of this punishment. For what purpose? Where was Shaddai when the dragoness did this? Why did not He stop her when the Scrolls all said Shaddai had the power to do so? Where was Shaddai when she cried in the night because it was too quiet?
Where was Shaddai when she was cursed? Why did not He stop this? Why did He leave her to this fate? Why did the curse need to be broken by love when she never had a suitor before now? Surely Shaddai knew she would be helpless to find such a man before this happened. With so many of the eligible nobles away fighting or killed, even her cousins had difficulty finding matches and they were the daughters of the king. Now, she was to cling to the hope that there was a nobleman who would risk courting a woman bound by a dragon’s curse? And that he would come to love her?
Celena stopped the wheel and took a deep breath as she fought to control her emotions. She was five and twenty, she needed to have better control than this over herself. Still a hot tear defied her best efforts and rolled past her lashes. She swiped it away. “Shaddai, I do not understand.”
There was no answer. No sense of guidance or even a new understanding. She was not even certain if Shaddai would ever give her one. She picked up the shears lying next to the jar of water and clipped the thread. The spindle was full. Despite her tossing emotions, Celena still took care when she removed the spindle and carried it to the two baskets resting beside the door. She dropped it into the one with the other full spindles, which would be emptied at the end of the sennight by her maids. Then, she reached into the other basket and withdrew an empty spindle.
She stared at the spindle in her hand for a long moment and clenched it in her fist. “How could a spindle pose any harm? They are all wood and all blunt.” She did not bother to inspect the spindle for any flaws this time as she returned to the spinning wheel still speaking her thoughts. “Why must I live in a tower away from my home, my family, for the sake of a dragoness? Why must I suffer such loneliness for the sake of a spindle? A spindle that can do no harm?”
She paused and looked out her open window. The forest was dark now, but she knew the moon and stars must be shining still. “I just want to know why. Can You not grant me that understanding?”
There was no answer save for the crackling flames in the fireplace. Celena sighed as she fitted the spindle into place and grasped the flax thread to tie it onto the base of the spindle. She had just finished winding the thread around the spindle when the door of her chamber opened.
“Celena.”
She gave a start as her father entered the room, a wide grin fixed in place, with a young man on his heels. Her hand slipped knocking against the tip of the spindle. She recognized the young man as the son of the Earl of Ernost just as pain bit her hand. She looked down as she yanked her hand away from the spindle. Blood was on her skin.
She looked back at her father as heat burned its way up her arm. His smile had vanished and he ran toward her, catching her as her legs gave out. “No, Celena! No!” He looked at the younger man and snapped, “Prove your fondness for her.”
The heat was leaving her hand replaced with a strange coldness that made her fingers feel heavy. The heat continued its way across her body as the man knelt beside them. He looked . . . afraid. She tried to reassure him, but the words refused to come. The man dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers, but she could not feel more than a light pressure past the heat. The man leaned back and the heat continued leaving an odd coldness in its wake. She tried again to speak, but the words would not come.
Her father pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Accursed spindle. It has taken you.”
There was movement but Celena could not turn her head to see. She barely felt her father’s hold stiffening around her and he shouted, “No! Do nothing to the spindle! Get out! Just go!”
She felt cold and so very weary. The heat had left her body almost completely, leaving only the strange coldness that made her feel so heavy. And tired. She was so tired.
Celena was struggling to keep her eyes from closing when she realized her father was carrying her. He placed her on the bed, but she could not feel the softness of the mattress beneath her. Her father’s frame seemed to droop as he rested his hand on hers. But she could not feel it. Sorrow tinged his voice when he spoke in a ragged whisper, “I am so sorry, Celena. I thought to surprise you and assumed you would not be near the spinning wheel after nightfall. I am to blame for both the curse and its entrapment of you.”
Her eyelids slid closed despite her attempts to keep them open. She could not feel anything except for the coldness surrounding her. Still she heard her father’s voice break as he continued, “Forgive me, Celena. I swear before Shaddai Himself that I will not rest until I have found someone to wake you. You will wake once more. I promise.”
She tried to speak. To tell him it was not his fault. To comfort him. But the words never came, and then she heard no more as the coldness coiled around her.
* * *
One Hundred Years Later
Drake’s claw crawled across the forest floor and clung to the trunks of the evergreen and still bare oaks. The sinewy thorn covered vines hid any sign of trails through the ancient forest. Brand rubbed his stubble covered chin as he studied the natural barrier. It had to be drake’s claw. He glanced over at the mercenary who had shadowed his movements for the past month. The man spat a curse and exclaimed, “Drake’s claw!”
“Wonderful change of scenery, is it not?” Brand murmured, still considering his options.
“You’ve gone mad,” retorted the other man. He shook his head and then turned on his heel.
“Giving up so soon?” Brand called after him. “Why, we had just gotten to know each other.”
“You stay and face the drakes that haunt this forest,” the mercenary retorted. “Vainlyn did not pay us enough coin for me to risk my neck for him on a fool’s errand.”
Brand smirked at the man. “Be sure to use those words with Vainlyn when you report your failure. I am certain he will be delighted to hear the opinion of a mere mercenary.”
The other man barked a nervous laugh. “I’m not such a fool. I’m going north. There’s work in Taliesin that will pay well. If you were not mad, you would do the same. Or join one of the merchant caravans. They always need guards.”
Brand ignored the suggestion. He turned back to the forest as he listened to the other man’s retreat. He was not the first mercenary to give up the quest. Brand had no doubt that a good third, if not half of the mercenaries the Earl of the Vainlyn had gathered last harvest had taken the coins he paid upfront and simply run. Others had given up or turned back at the various obstacles. He could hardly blame them for deciding it was easier to leave Aneirin and her ongoing war of succession. But, Brand was not ready to join their number yet. He did not know if the legend of the Sleeping Duchess was true. But on the chance that it was based on something more than the old guard’s desperate attempts, he wanted to be the one to find out.
It was better than spending his time selling his sword to the highest bidder and steeling himself against cutting down men who had once been his brothers in arms. Brand strolled along the drake’s claw, not getting close enough to be stung by the thorns, swinging his arms. Whatever had Vainlyn agitated enough that he was willing to give fifty silver coins to fifty mercenaries with the promise of another fifty to whoever brought proof that the Sleeping Duchess was no more than a legend was Vainlyn’s business. The story had changed several times over the years. Brand had even heard a bard claim the Sleeping Duchess was actually a princess who was struck down in her sixteenth year by an angry sorceress. Imaginative, but all of Aneirin’s princesses had been accounted for when Brand began investigating.
He paused when he caught sight of a faint path leading between the thorny vines. A deer trail. He grinned. “Now maybe I can get through the day without being stung.” He reached under his jerkin and withdrew the tattered map that had led him this far. He examined the faded ink, tracing the boundaries with one finger, before nodding. “That will do.”
He folded the map and quickly shoved it back under his jerkin, then strode down the faint trail. It would take time to search the whole of the forest, but he was not going to leave until he found something or covered every inch of land to say with certainty that there was nothing to be found.
Midafternoon on the eighth day of searching, Brand stopped beside a mountain stream. He soaked a rag in the water and then shivered as the frigid water ran down his face and neck. He rested a hand on his knee as he looked around. The ancient forest kept whatever secrets it guarded. He had found some ruins, but there had been nothing to indicate an isolated tower like the one described in the oldest accounts of the Sleeping Duchess. Brand blew out a breath as he eyed the sunlight dappled woods. The evergreens were thicker here, causing more shadows, and the air was cold enough at night that he was surprised there had not been a late snow. He was now at the foothills of border mountains with Talhaearn and Cian Gwenith. If he did not find something soon, he was going to end up climbing mountains.
A bird called overhead and Brand squinted up at the sky. Perhaps it was time to turn back. He could report back to Vainlyn that he found nothing, claim the rest of the coins, and move on to Belfarad or even Cian Gwenith. Or he could go north to Talhaearn or Taliesin. Anything would be better than remaining in Aneirin and watching the country of his birth continue its slow death. Brand wiped his brow with his sleeve as he muttered, “Should at least go now while Vainlyn’s truce is in place.”
Never mind that the only reason Vainlyn had proposed the truce last harvest was because he likely wanted his hired men to be able to return to his estate in the southern reaches of Aneirin without being lost in skirmishes. Brand shook his head. The first truce outside of winter in decades and it’s due to whatever scheme Vainlyn had staked on the denial of the Sleeping Duchess rather than any true goodwill in the man. Not that it was a shock given the man’s nature in battle. Brand took a drink of water and murmured, “He will be the king if he can force the old guard to surrender or kill the last of the leaders.”
The thought bothered him more than it should have given his intent to leave Aneirin. Brand forced it away as he got to his feet. He had not finished searching this section of the forest yet. Dwelling on the past would do him no good.
He walked for an hour before he was forced to stop in his tracks. Drake’s claw had tangled itself into a tall hedge of thorny vines. He walked along its perimeter for the better part of another hour before he stopped again. This was taking too long. Drawing his sword, Brand hesitated only for a moment before he started hacking a path through the thorn covered vines. There were still twisting vines that reached out to snag at his dark brown cloak, not to mention his arms and feet, but he hacked those back too until the path was wide enough for a single rider to get through without too much peril. Sweat ran down his back and beaded his brow. He no longer felt the chill of early spring as his arms burned and the thorns stung his exposed skin with every move. Finally, the last of the vines fell at his feet revealing a sort of meadow painted gold by the setting sun.
Brand lowered his sword as he stepped into the meadow. His gaze was transfixed by the sight of a solitary tower almost directly opposite from him. The southern side was covered in ivy and drake’s claw and the stones were weathered, but the tower still stood. Sheathing his sword, Brand walked toward the tower. He gave a shout, but there was no answer save for the birds and the whistling wind. As he drew near, he realized he could not see a door. It was not until he started pulling at the ivy that he was able to find the door. The wood groaned as he forced it to swing open, then he ducked inside.
Dust. The floor was covered in dust. Brand stepped with care as he poked through the lower level of the tower, but there was nothing to be found aside from old furniture covered in cobwebs and dust. Even the fireplace in the kitchens held cobwebs. He made his way up the stone steps to the next level and found more of the same. There was finer furniture in two chambers, like one would expect to find in a noble or rich merchant’s house, and in a smaller room was a bed. Perhaps a servant’s chamber at one point. The higher he climbed the more refined the furniture, but what was not draped in cloth had suffered damage and was covered in cobwebs and dust.
Curiosity drove him onward and upward until he stopped on a landing with only a single door at the top of the tower. He tested the handle, it was not locked. The door groaned as he pulled it open, the corner scraping against the stone floor. The room was decorated as a lady’s chamber and everything save the bed was draped in cloth. The bed itself was enclosed by hangings.
Brand entered the chamber warily and then poked around the furnishings. He uncovered a lady’s dressing table with its mirror of polished silver. Several brushes and jars that carried the faint hint of scents still sat on the table. The brushes were silver with a ‘C’ nestled among roses on their backs. He set them back down and then uncovered a large wardrobe. He did not bother to poke inside. He had no interest in a lady’s clothes.
There was another object in the chamber across from the bed. He pulled off the cloth and stared at an odd contraption. It looked like some type of spinning wheel complete with an empty spindle and distaff, but it was much smaller than most he had seen. He left the spinning wheel and went to the bed. He grasped the hangings with both hands and then paused as a sense of . . . something odd . . . a heaviness seemed to fill the air. He pulled the hangings back and stopped still.
There was a figure lying on the bed. A female covered in a shroud that was large enough to completely cover the bed. There were cobwebs and dust on the shroud, but Brand found himself reaching out a gloved hand to pull back the shroud. His breath caught at the sight of a young woman. She was pale, and her hair was such a pale blonde that it was nearly silver in color. Her silver-white gown was odd and certainly not something worn by noblewomen. Her hands were folded over her breast with a resin coated silver rose between them.
She was so still that she almost seemed carved from marble. Brand pulled off a glove and touched his fingers to her neck. Her skin felt like cold stone to the touch, and he could not find a pulse. He held his hand over her mouth and nose. A faint brush of warm air tickled his skin. She was breathing. She was alive. How to wake her?
He grasped her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. “Lady? Are you well? Can you hear me?”
The sleeping woman gave no response.
He dribbled a little water over her face, but she still did not move or react. Even her barely detectable breathing never changed. She slept like one dead. Untouched and unmoved by anything around her. Brand stood up straight and then paced about the room attempting to come up with other ideas, but each one he dismissed or it failed to stir the sleeping woman.
Brand stood by the bed gazing down at the woman. The stories all agreed that the Sleeping Duchess had been struck down by a curse, but none ever mentioned how to break it. Brand shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. I do not know how to wake you.” He frowned as he realized that if the stories were true and she had been sleeping here since the reign of King Eric, then she was likely alone in the world. Everyone she had known was gone. “I know it might not seem this way to you, my lady, but you are better off sleeping. Do not worry, though, I will not tell Vainlyn you’re real. I’ll tell him I failed. No. He would just hire more mercenaries. No, I will tell him there was nothing to find.”
Yes, that would be better. After all, he would not trust the earl not to do something to the woman if he learned she was there and still lived. Even if she was simply sleeping in a tower in a forgotten part of the woods.
Brand quickly walked around the room, recovering the furniture. When he returned to the bed, he was once more struck with the pitiable fate of the lady. She had been struck from most people’s minds, forgotten to the ravages of time, until little remained of her save the legend of a Sleeping Duchess. A legend that did not even remember her name. He had not been able to find her name either. He knew the name of the land or what it had been once . . . Hilida. He studied the Sleeping Duchess of Hilida for a long moment. “Pardon my informality, my lady, but I will call you Rose. It will allow me to remember you while still keeping you safe from harm.”
He picked up the shroud and drew it up once more, but he paused before covering her face. Pity for her stirred in his breast. Brand leaned down and whispered, “You have my word that I will not forget you. You will be remembered by someone again, Rose.”
He saluted her with a kiss to her cold lips. It was rather like kissing a marble statue. He straightened and then finished covering her with the shroud. He stepped back and offered a deep bow, right fist clenched over his heart. “Farewell, Rose.”
Brand started to draw the hangings back into place, but stopped. It seemed wrong to shut her wholly away from the world once more. He left the hangings open and then walked to the door. He had only just reached the threshold when he heard something fall to the floor. His hand went to his sword as he spun back to face the chamber. The preserved silver rose rolled across the floor not stopping until it met the leg of the spinning wheel.
He raised his eyes to the bed and drew in a sharp breath. The shroud was moving. Rose . . . The duchess was awake and struggling to sit up even as she tried to free herself from the shroud. He stared at her, unable to move. What . . . no, how had this happened? She had been completely undisturbed and now . . . Now she was awake. Somehow, she was awake. Brand sheathed his sword and took a step forward as the shroud fell.
* * *
Celena gasped, then coughed as dusty air filled her nose and mouth. She coughed again as she pushed the blanket that had been smothering her away. Her throat was parched, and there was a dull ache behind her eyes as though she had slept overlong. The last thing she remembered was her father promising to find a way to wake her . . . Her father. She coughed once more and then called hoarsely, “Elise? Susan?”
There was no reply from either maid. Celena placed a hand over her eyes as she struggled to open them. “Father?”
There was still no answer. Where were they? She opened her eyes and slowly lowered her hand. She startled to find a stranger in her chamber. He was staring at her with shock written across his face. She did not know him, but he did not seem the type of man who would easily stand out at court. He was not short, but he was not notably tall either since she guessed he stood a little less than six feet. He was neither plain nor particularly handsome with brown eyes, dark brown hair that was more shaggy than groomed and did not quite brush his shoulders, and a short beard. He was clad in the sensible clothing of a hunter or even a soldier with a blue-grey tunic beneath a brown leather jerkin, which was surprisingly void of any stamping to declare his house, and brown trousers and boots. He wore a heavy dark brown cloak about his shoulders, and she could see he had both sword and dagger on his belt.
No, there was nothing about this man that could be described as anything memorable. He had to be a younger son, one who spent more time with the army than at court absent the duties of an heir. This was the man her father had found.
She tried to greet him only to dissolve into a fit of coughing. She closed her eyes even as she touched her throat. It felt so dry. There was the touch of something against her hand, and she blindly grasped it. She heard the gentle command to drink, and she opened watery eyes to see she now held a water gourd. She did not hesitate in slaking her thirst. The water was cold and tasted better than anything she’d had in the past.
Celena glanced up at the man who now stood by her bed. She lowered the water gourd as she studied him from beneath her lashes. He was still watching her in what could only be called disbelief. Had her father not prepared him? The thought made her almost frown before she remembered her manners. She extended the water gourd to him with a smile. “Thank you. You woke me?”
“I . . . I did?”
Her smile widened at the note of confusion in his voice. “I hope I did not frighten you.”
The man blinked and he reached up to scratch at his chin trying and failing to hide a grin. “Ah, it was somewhat unexpected, Rose. But I did not realize your nap was due to end so soon.”
“Nap,” she repeated, not quite believing her ears. This stranger was far more relaxed in his speech than most of the men she had met at court. But, those had been the heirs and suitors vying for the hands of the elder three princesses. Her own smile grew as she continued pushing the blanket down never taking her eyes off the man. “I . . . Yes, I am grateful you woke me though. As my father will be too. Of that I am sure. Where is he? Did he decide to wait downstairs? How long have I been asleep? A sennight?”
The man’s grin vanished. Celena’s brow furrowed. “What is it? Has it been longer? A fortnight? A month? Two? It cannot have been a year.” When he looked away from her, dread crept over her sinking its claws into her heart. A year. She had been sleeping for a year? She shoved at the blanket once more, but this time her hand touched something gritty. She glanced down at her hand. Dust coated her fingertips. Dust and cobwebs coated the top of the blanket she had pushed down. No, not a blanket. It was a . . . shroud.
Celena drew a sharp breath. “Where is my father? I must speak to him.” She heard the rise in her voice, but she did not care as she struggled to get up. The man stepped to the right as she stood. Celena’s breath caught in her throat. The room looked abandoned. Dust coated the floor marred only by the man’s footprints and places where it looked like something had been dropped then picked up again. Protective cloths were draped over everything.
No, this could not be right. Where was everyone? “How long have I been asleep? Where is my father? Why is he not here? Has something happened with my mother? Has she worsened?”
There was no response. Celena turned to look at the man. He had turned his face away from her slightly and lowered his gaze. On impulse she grasped his gloved hand. “Please. Please tell me what has happened. Where is my father? How long have I been asleep? More than a year? Two? Three?”
* * *
The light but insistent hold on his hand forced him to look at her again. Her silver eyes were wide with no hint remaining of her former smile. She looked to him as though he held all the answers. Yet, he did not want to tell her what he knew. Her lips trembled, and her voice shook as she asked again. “Please tell me where my father is, sir. Or at the very least how long I have been asleep. Where is everyone?”
Brand braced himself for hysterics even as he reluctantly said, “It has been one hundred years or more if the legends are true.”
What little color was in her cheeks fled as she swayed. “One hundred years,” she repeated in a faint whisper. “No. No, that is . . . That is impossible.” Her fingers went limp, dropping his hand, as she moved away from him. She shook her head. “No. I . . . It cannot be. They must be here.”
“Rose.” He winced then tried again. “My lady, please.”
She held up a trembling hand. “No. My father . . . I need to find my father.”
“Wait.”
It was too late. She was already hurrying out of the chamber, her skirts leaving a clear swath through the dust. Brand followed as closely as he dared even as he avoided drawing too near for fear of frightening her further. His heart twisted as he heard her tremulous calls for her father and for women he suspected had once served as her maids. She rushed out of the tower and her calls abruptly stopped.
Brand lengthened his stride, hand going to his sword, as he followed. The woman stood a scant five paces from him, her arms wrapped around herself as she shivered in the cool night air. He had not realized that the sun had dipped below the trees taking with it what little warmth remained that spring day.
“My father did not send you, did he?”
“No.” Brand drew a little closer as he undid his cloak. He settled it on her shoulders as he added softly, “I am sorry I cannot say otherwise. Will you come back inside? I can set up a fire and get you warm again.”
“I do not understand why it is so cold. It is the Midsummer.”
“Actually, it is barely spring thaw this far from the sea. Of course, the way things have been going lately we’ll likely be snowed in as soon as we go inside the tower.” He frowned as a new thought occurred to him. “Unless the tower is enchanted to make us fall asleep when we’ve let our guards down.”
There was a sniffle and possibly the barest hint of a laugh before the woman turned toward him. “There is no curse on the tower.”
“That is wonderful to hear. I far prefer staying in towers to camping in the cold.” He grinned slightly as he added, “Even if the place needs some dusting.”
She offered a slight smile in reply, but said nothing as she walked past him. Brand watched her return the tower before he followed, pausing only to swing the tower door closed.
* * *
Celena entered her chamber and slowly crossed to the cloth covered spinning wheel. The stranger who had woken her was assembling a camp on the second level of the tower. She frowned when she realized she had forgotten to ask his name or to even give her own. But this melted from her mind as she looked around her chamber. It looked so barren . . . so abandoned.
One hundred years gone? She closed her eyes against the thought as though it would banish everything. No, she could not believe that her father, her mother, everyone she knew was gone. There had to be a mistake. Perhaps five years or even a decade had passed since she was trapped in that death-like sleep, enough that people had embellished the tale to make it more fantastic in nature. One hundred years of sleep would certainly seem more appropriate to anyone who was telling the story of a dragon’s curse. Especially given the hard won war to free the northern kingdoms from the presence of dragons. Yes, that had to be the source of the fabled one hundred years of sleep. Her father would laugh when she told him.
Opening her eyes once more, Celena clung to the thought of seeing her parents again of hearing her father laugh and seeing her mother smile. She could go back to them. However, there was one thing she needed to know.
She grasped the heavy cloth and pulled it off the spinning wheel. The flax she had been spinning was gone from the distaff. The carved wood of the spinning wheel seemed dull compared to her memory of polished wood that gleamed in the sun. She touched the wheel for a moment before turning her attention to the spindle. She removed it and carefully turned it over. She gasped when the flickering candlelight played across the broken, almost jagged side of the spindle’s point turning it from blunt to sharp. Celena closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath as she realized her careless mistake had been her undoing. She should have checked the spindle for flaws. If she had not been so distracted, so caught up in questioning Shaddai, in indulging her self-pity, then maybe she would not have been caught by the curse.
Tightening her grip on the spindle, she fought back the urge to weep. Her gaze caught on the glint of something on the floor. A fresh urge to sob swept over her when she drew the preserved silver rose from where it lay beneath the cloth. She adored the roses in King Eric’s gardens and, as a child, she had often begged her father to find a silver rose. When she grew older, she finally understood it was nearly impossible to purchase the silver roses of Cian Gwenith. The dragon wars had damaged the trade between kingdoms as each of the Five struggled in their own war against the dragons. She ran her fingers over the resin coated petals. How dear a price had her father paid to bring this to her? Not only a silver rose, but one preserved against wilting.
Celena drew another shaky breath and wiped tears from her cheeks. Enough was enough. She had fallen into this by being selfish and preoccupied with her own woes. She was not going to do so again. Whatever had happened and however much time had passed, she needed to learn what was happening at Hilida Keep and in Aneirin and even in the Five Kingdoms. If her father had been able to purchase a preserved silver rose, perhaps the Great Western Road was no longer plagued by dragons or stirred up drakes and trade could once more flow unchecked from Taliesin in the far north down to Belfarad and beyond the southern border to Kush.
She started for the door and stopped again. The dragoness’ words echoed through her mind. This curse shall bind you to that spindle, so long as the curse remains, you will die should the spindle be destroyed. She looked down at the spindle still clutched in her left hand. Biting her lower lip, Celena hesitated as she weighed her choices. Then, she returned the spindle to the spinning wheel before placing the preserved rose on the bed. Only then did she leave the chamber.
Her fingers toyed with the edges of the heavy wool cloak as she made her way down the winding stairs. There was no embroidery or any sort of decoration on the cloak. It was plain but warm and, much like the rest of its owner’s attire, it seemed to have been chosen for practicality over any other need. Her father had owned two cloaks much like this one when he fought in the dragon wars. She could still remember the day he had told her it was often wiser to dress plainly when fighting or hunting because it was foolish for nobles to insist on court attire in those situations. That was how one became a meal or lost one.
Celena allowed the fabric to fall back into place as she reached the second level. She could smell smoke and the scent of cooking meat that was enough to make her mouth water. She had not even realized how hungry she was until she smelled it. The stranger was crouched in front of the fireplace roasting something on a spit he must have taken from the kitchen. His back was turned to her even though she felt certain he had heard her coming. He had also swept away some of the dust before covering the floor nearest the fireplace with cloths formerly covering the furniture.
She could not help the thought that her father would approve of this man. Younger son or not, he certainly did not act like someone who would end up becoming a meal. Or losing one. She reached the edge of the cloths and cleared her throat. Oh, things would be far easier if she knew his name! He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m glad you came back down, Rose. Are you feeling better?”
She reached up to touch her cheek in fear she had cried a little more, but she felt nothing. Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, Celena blushed as she quickly lowered her hand. “No. That is, I mean yes. I was . . . surprised before but now . . . Well, I . . .” She could feel her cheeks growing warmer as she struggled with her words. By Shaddai, what was wrong with her now? The man was still watching her. She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if I could help with the meal.”
He grinned at that. “No need. I’m afraid it’s simple fare tonight. I caught some fat little quail hiding in the hedge, which is nearly done.” He glanced at the roasting meat and added, “Should fall off the bone. Ah, but I also have some bread. No berries, I’m afraid. Also I only have water, no ale or wine.”
Celena smiled when he looked back at her. “It smells delicious, sir. I’m sure it will prove a very fine meal.”
She did not add that she would have eaten cold pottage with a smile, she was so famished. She meant to ask him his name, but then he took the quail from the spit. All thoughts aside from food and eating vanished from her head as her mouth watered. Never had a piece of roasted game looked so lovely or smelled so tantalizing as the quail in that moment. Forgetting her attempts at decorum, Celena eagerly joined the man in sitting on the cloth covered floor.
* * *
Brand watched with hidden amusement as the woman tried to eat her quail using only her fingers with delicate manners despite the hunger shining in her silver eyes. So far, he had resisted making any observations. He did not want to embarrass Rose . . . well, the duchess.
When she finished eating the quail, Brand finally broke his silence. “The meal was to your liking, I take it?”
She offered him a shy smile that was far more welcome than the hint of tears and silent despair that had been there before she retreated to her chamber. “It was delicious, sir. I am more than grateful for it.” Her eyes widened, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Oh! My manners are unforgivable. Again. Who are you?” She blushed, pink adding color to her pale cheeks. “I mean, I would be honored to know the name of the man who woke me, sir.”
“Brand son of Bard at your service, my lady.”
She offered another smile. “Brand,” she repeated. “Forgive me for saying so, but I do not recognize your father’s name. What is your house? Perhaps I know your elder brother’s name. Did you fight in the war?”
“I fought for one of the noble houses,” he stated simply. “I am my father’s only son.”
Her smile started to slip and her brow furrowed as she lowered the flatbread to gaze at him. “You are your father’s heir? But . . . Oh, is your father a minor lord then?”
Brand looked down at his hands and forced his grip on his cup to ease before the wood cracked. He smiled, then chuckled. “I thank you for the compliment of believing me to be one of the nobles, Rose. That has never happened before tonight. However, I must ask you a simple question.” He looked up at her and leaned forward slightly as he asked, “What sort of nobleman would name his son Brand?”
The color drained from her cheeks and her eyes widened even further. “Oh. I . . . Forgive me, sir, I mean, Brand. I thought, that is, I assumed you were a younger son, someone who fought in the war. Pray forgive my insult to you and to your father. It was never my intent to do so.”
Brand could not help his grin as he plucked at his jerkin. “My clothing did not tell you what you needed to know? I thought all noblewomen could spy an inferior by the way he dressed.”
The woman looked as though she wanted to argue or perhaps laugh, but she only shrugged. “My father always said noblemen who dressed for court when they were hunting or fighting were the ones who lost a meal or became one.” A fresh hint of pink kissed her cheeks as she added, “I assumed you were being a sensible man.”
Brand laughed. “I fear the noblemen have turned fastidious to the point that they would be appalled to sit on the ground to eat or to be surrounded by such dust and let us not forget the horror of holding conversation with one of the rabble.”
That won him a smile. “King Eric would no doubt be very disappointed to hear of this.” Her smile faded slightly as she gave him a questioning look. “You said you fought in the war. Have the dragons attempted to return? I know some escaped, but I did not think they would be bold enough to attack again or forgiving enough to attempt a peaceful return.”
Brand stared at her. “Rose . . . No, you would not know. The war is the same one my father fought in and his father and his before him. We do not fight the dragons. They are long gone and most in Aneirin are content to call them legends.”
Her smile vanished as confusion filled her eyes. “Who are you fighting?”
“Each other. Aneirin had been gripped in a war of succession for the better part of a hundred years.”
Confusion was swept away by an expression he could only describe as horror. She did not speak, he was not certain if she could, only shook her head as she lowered the last piece of bread.
Brand sighed and poked at the fire stirring the flames higher. “Do you know you are perhaps the first person, noble or commoner, who has reacted to this news like that? Aneirin has been soaked in blood for so long, the rest of us have forgotten to be horrified. It is our daily life and has been for so long that we do not look on attacking our brothers as we once did . . . as we should again.”
“But you are a soldier.”
“I was,” he murmured. He stabbed one of the blazing logs and added, “I lost my master and his house fell so I became a sell-sword, a mercenary. I am heartily sick of fighting my own countrymen. I intend to leave Aneirin soon. As soon as I finish here.”
“I do not understand.” The quiet words made him look at her, she was watching him with a mix of confusion and wariness. “You are not a solider? You are a mercenary. Laws were passed forbidding the use of mercenaries in Aneirin. They do not respect our traditions or our ways and too often they conspired with slavers.”
Brand frowned. “The old laws are not applied if you do not get caught by a rival lord.” He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “I am not proud of what I had to do to survive. But if I did not sell my sword, I would have been executed or conscripted. With my master dead, I chose to make my own decisions as to who I would serve.”
“King Eric put those laws into place because of a noble’s attempted treachery during his father’s reign. His name was not even spoken after his death, but his actions in hiring mercenaries and conspiring against the throne brought strong consequences for both mercenaries and their masters.” The woman shook her head. “I do not understand how . . . Why would you take such risks? For what reason? Coins?”
He rose ready to leave the room or even the tower, but the bewilderment and even concern in her words stayed him. He glanced from her to the crackling flames. “My family is gone. When my master fell in battle with both his heirs, my place and means of living were gone. I had to make a choice on how to survive. I am a soldier, that is my trade and it is what I know. I made a choice, Rose. And in truth, all the nobles hire mercenaries at some point or another. The branding only happens if you get caught, but most men who receive one leave the kingdom.”
Shaking her head, Rose raised a hand. “Wait, please. I must beg your forgiveness, Brand. I have offered insult when you have been nothing if not kind to me and you did wake me. Please.” Silver eyes pleaded with unspoken words even as her lips moved. “Do not leave, please. I am sorry for what I said. I was merely unprepared.”
He hesitated barely half a breath before he once more sank to the floor. He watched her for a moment and then chuckled.
“Why do you laugh?”
Brand grinned and gestured to his face as he replied, “I was wondering if your care for my work comes from the desire not to see my handsomeness marred.”
She smiled and then laughed softly. “I do not think you need a woman to find you handsome with such vain confidence.”
He placed a hand against his chest. “Vain? My dear lady, I assure you I am the humblest of men.” He frowned mockingly as he considered her words. “Unless you mean to say you do not find me to be handsome.”
She blushed and looked away from him. “It is not proper for a man to ask a lady if she finds him handsome.”
“Ah.” Brand dropped his hand and tilted his head back as he squinted up at the ceiling. “So, you do not find me particularly handsome. Ah well, my pride has been pricked but it shall recover in time, fair Rose.”
“Sir Brand.”
“Brand,” he corrected. “I was never knighted. I am a lowly mercenary now.”
“Brand,” she repeated so softly he almost did not hear her. There was a pause, but he did not look at her. “Brand, you said you would leave Aneirin when you finished here. Were you hired to find me? To wake me?”
“Yes, I was hired along with others to find the truth behind the legend.” Brand lowered his gaze to find her watching him closely. The same pity flooded him as before and he sighed. “We were told to search for any evidence that the legend of the Sleeping Duchess was no more than that, a myth. There are few among the remaining nobles who even believe the legend is more than a story created to feed the resistance to the various contenders over the years.”
Her brow furrowed, and she bit her bottom lip before she asked, “Contenders? How many of them are there?”
“Now?” He shrugged. “There’s only one strong contender left. The man who paid me.”
“What will you tell him?” came the quiet question.
Brand met her silver gaze and held it as he answered, “That there is nothing here. I doubt the mighty Eric will take kindly to news of your survival or your awakening.”
Bewilderment filled her eyes. “Eric? But, he is both my cousin and my godfather. Why would he be anything but pleased? I am . . .” She trailed off as the bewilderment vanished and a stark bleakness replaced it as her entire frame drooped. “No . . . He is not here either. King Eric is gone.”
“The Earl of Vainlyn’s familiar name is Eric as was his father and his grandfather before him,” he stated gently. “I think you should get some rest. Even with your nap earlier, I think you need it for when we leave in the morning.”
“Where? If you do not mean to deliver me to Vainlyn, where do you intend to take me? Out of Aneirin?”
“Only if that is your wish.” Brand considered his next words. He could endanger all he had planned for himself but . . . it was the right thing to do. “I will escort you wherever you wish to go, Rose.”
“That is not my name,” she whispered even as she pulled his cloak closer.
Brand inclined his head slightly. “My apologies. However, if you will allow me to make a suggestion. I would advise you to go to the old guard nobles for at least a little while. They are leaders of the resistance to Vainlyn’s claim to the throne, and my former master was counted among their number until his death.”
The woman did not reply. She did not even move. She only clutched his cloak around herself and gazed into the fire.
He nodded. “You can tell me what you have decided in the morning. You should get some sleep . . . Duchess.”
“Celena,” came the quiet reply. “My name is Celena. Please call me Celena.”
“As you wish.”
The words had no sooner left his mouth than she rose to her feet. She hesitated a long moment, plucking at the cloak, but Brand raised a hand before she could speak. “Keep it. You need it more than I do. Would you like a blanket as well?”
“No, you should keep it.” She bit her bottom lip and then added softly, “Thank you, Brand. For everything.” She hesitated a little longer as though she could not quite make up her mind on the proper thing to do, then she offered a regal nod and swept out of the room.
He listened to her steps on the stairs and then the sound of the door at the top of the tower shutting. It seemed Duchess Celena would be staying with her past one final night. He frowned as he realized she was already proving different from other women. Perhaps Shaddai had brought him here for a reason? Brand shook the thought away. Truer nonsense than most of his thoughts. He turned his attention back to prepping his makeshift camp. One thing was certain. Whatever path Celena chose, it would delay his departure for a little while. But he could not walk away from her without first seeing she was safe and well cared for by good people. She deserved that much.
* * *
Celena stared out the window of her chamber. The air was cold and she still huddled beneath the man’s, no, Brand’s cloak even though the first hints of pink and yellow were lightening the sky. The light barely stretched out far enough for her to see, and the woods directly before her remained dark in the pre-dawn gloom. She had almost been afraid to close her eyes in case the curse grasped her once more and pulled her back into the cold darkness. But, she had managed to sleep for a little while.
She turned away from the window. She heard the door to the tower close some time ago, and she had crept downstairs to confirm that Brand was gone. She did not think him the kind of man to break his word, not when he had to have a heart pure enough to even wake her. After all, the dragoness herself had said only a pure heart or truest love could bring her back from that cursed sleep.
Opening her wardrobe once more, Celena looked over her gowns. Most were of linen or silk suited to the midsummer not early spring and, like the silver gown, were not well-suited to travel outside of a carriage. But, she could not abandon all her clothing. She had already changed into a pale blue wool gown, which while more suited to court than travel would be warmer. Celena chose four of the eight gowns in her wardrobe and packed them as tightly as possible into her bag. Her brushes and combs went in as well.
Her hand hovered over the spindle before she gently picked it up and tucked it between her gowns where it would be safe from harm. Brand might have the pure heart necessary to wake her but, since he himself had called her a myth, it did not seem likely that he would hold the truest of loves for her. In fact, it was impossible for him to love her. That alone meant she was still cursed and her life was still tied to the spindle. She needed to keep it safe. Leaving it behind in the tower was certainly not the answer, no matter how she wished it could have been otherwise. One day, though, one day she would be free of both curse and spindle.
The last item she packed was the resin coated silver rose. It was neither practical nor vital to her survival, but she could not bear to leave it behind. If Brand was not mistaken about the number of years that had passed, then it was the last thing she had of her father.
Celena closed her bag and went around the room once more. This time she covered everything with cloths, even the spinning wheel. She replaced the shroud on the bed and then drew the hangings. After closing the window’s shutters, she stood by the door with her bag clasped against her chest. She looked at the chamber that had been her world one last time and then she left it behind.
She went down the stairs hoping and praying that she would find Brand nearby. She did not want to be abandoned again. Her lips turned down at the thought before she pushed it away. Brand, son of Bard, had not struck her as the type of man who broke his word. However, he was equally determined to be on his way, and she was not certain he would agree when he learned of her intended destination.
Leaving the tower, she stepped onto the dew damp grass and drew in a deep breath. The air was cold and even a little damp. Her breath formed a white cloud when she exhaled, but more of the sky was pink, yellow, and orange with the rising sun. She was certain the cold would dissipate soon. It was light enough now to see that the gardens had been permitted to run wild, and most of the plants had yet to bloom although a few held the buds of promised beauty.
There was a snort followed by a low whicker from somewhere to her left and behind. Celena spun only to be greeted by the sight of Brand brushing the neck of a dappled grey charger. The horse’s ears pricked, and his wide nostrils flared before a large puff of white breath escaped making him seem capable of breathing fire or at least smoke. Brand patted his neck. “Easy, Pebbles.”
A giggle escaped before she could stop it. “You named your charger Pebbles?”
Brand smirked at her even though he never stopped checking the horse’s tack. “Do you think he’s a bit large for it?”
Celena laughed in response as she studied the charger who stood at least fifteen hands at the withers. “Perhaps a little. Though he is quite handsome.” She came a little closer holding her hand out for the horse to sniff. “How did you come by a charger, Brand?”
“Found him. Although he’s constantly ungrateful for my doing so given how he likes to lope off on his own and only shows up when I have need of him on a rare occasion,” he replied lightly. He tightened the girth and added in a more serious tone, “Did you sleep well?”
“Well enough under the circumstances, thank you.” Celena stroked the horse’s velvet nose as she tried to gather her thoughts. Why was this so much more difficult to ask than she had planned? It was a simple enough request.
“Have you decided on where you wish to go, Celena?”
She looked up sharply at the sound of her name on another’s lips. The way Brand spoke, it was almost an endearment but surely that was merely the gentleness of his tone. Still she found herself blinking away tears even though she was swift to summon a smile. “I am grateful for your generosity in offering escort, Brand. Truly. Although there is nothing much I can promise as repayment, you would have my eternal gratitude if you would escort me to Hilida Keep.”
“Hilida Keep?” he repeated slowly. Her heart quickened with the fear that he would change his mind and deny her request. Then, Brand inclined his head. “As you wish, Celena.”
Thank Shaddai, she was going home.
* * *
Brand kept a light grip on Pebble’s reins as he led the horse along a narrow deer path. A glance over his shoulder assured him that Celena was still sitting astride the horse. It was a fool’s worry to imagine the duchess would leap from the horse in favor of running through the drake’s claw infested woods.
But she had been very quiet since they left her tower two days past. The silence had started to grate on him today. Perhaps it was due to her earlier shock at the hedge of drake’s claw and discovering more of the thorny plant throughout the woods . . . or she simply did not trust him enough to speak. A caution that was likely well deserved given her circumstances, and her dismay at learning he was a mercenary. Brand glanced back over his shoulder. Yet deserved or no, he did not want her to feel uncomfortable around him.
The deer path widened slightly, and Brand allowed himself to fall back so he was closer to Pebbles and his burden. The horse’s breath warmed his cheek and neck as he tried to nibble on Brand’s jerkin. Brand pushed the horse’s nose away and turned his attention to Celena. “I have been thinking, Celena.”
Her lips twitched slightly, but her silver gaze brightened as she met his gaze. “Have you, Brand? How wondrous.”
He grinned and then quickly stifled it as he feigned somber contemplation. “Indeed. Even more wondrous is the fact that I find myself forced to admit that you are not prone to acting like a useless piece of fluff like most of the noblewomen of my acquaintance.”
Her answering smile was wide enough to rival the crescent moon. She giggled before she covered her mouth with one hand. When she lowered her hand, she had assumed a haughty expression that certainly matched most noblewomen as she raised both eyebrows and intoned with a touch of condescension, “I fear you have been meeting the wrong sort of noblewomen then.”
“Oh no doubt,” he agreed readily. “Although, like you, they were decidedly underwhelmed by my presence. But, I doubt any of them would have agreed to ride astride an old warhorse without at least one swooning fit.”
“Definitely the wrong sort of noblewomen then,” Celena echoed. She sighed heavily despite the amusement gleaming in her eyes as she added sorrowfully, “How could they be any better than the noblemen who think court dress is suited to battle and hunting?”
“They deserve each other then?”
“It would seem so,” she mused. “However,” a hint of mischief entered her gaze now, “perhaps you had your heart broken by a noblewoman and are now calloused to all nobles. And, possibly prone to embellishment.”
Brand laid a hand across his chest. “Prone to embellishment?” He chirped to Pebbles. “Do you hear the duchess, old boy? She accuses me of embellishment. Can you believe such a thing?”
The horse bobbed his head making Celena laugh softly while Brand groaned, “Treachery from my own horse.” He glanced over his shoulder at her as he added, “It seems your beauty can tame even the beasts.”
Her cheeks grew pink and she looked away from him even as her fingers plucked nervously at Pebbles’ mane. Brand seized the opportunity to study her. He had only been half teasing when he noted the differences between her and the noblewomen he had witnessed in the past. Like their male counterparts, most of the noble ladies preferred to dress as though they were going to a ball or high festival at all times. Celena had changed from her silver gown to a more practical wool gown of light blue. Not a riding gown, but its skirts were full enough to allow her to ride astride without exposing more than her leather slippers. Had it been any earlier in the season, he would have given her cloths to wrap around her feet and legs to stay warm, but spring’s warmth was slowly claiming even this far corner of Aneirin.
But the differences went deeper than her attire. Her acceptance of him and continuing to treat him as a man of equal standing even after she learned what he was . . . It had been a long time since that last happened and that was before he was forced to become a mercenary. Duchess Celena was different from the others. He could only hope she would remain so when they parted ways.
“I think you are unkind.”
Brand raised his head at that. “Unkind? In what way, madam?”
She stroked the horse’s mane. “You have maligned Pebbles by calling him a beast. He’s no more one than you are yourself.”
“Maligned Pebbles?” Brand raised a hand above his head. “Shaddai as my witness, I have never called the malicious creature anything less than he is. He’s only trying to get you to support his revolt.”
Celena smiled at him even as she shook her head. “I fear you have been on your own too long, Brand. You think your own horse is conspiring to revolt against you.”
“You have not seen the way he behaves when I am trying to ford a stream of any depth or width,” Brand retorted. “Pebbles is not as gentle and sweet as he wants you to believe. He’s a conniving beast with a crafty mind always bent on having his own way and causing mischief for me. It’s a wonder I have kept the creature for all the trouble he’s caused me in the past.”
She stroked Pebbles’ mane soothing the horse. “Never mind him, Pebbles. I know the truth. I fear your friend has grown jealous of your attention and now he wishes to malign you in hopes you will return to him.”
Brand rolled his eyes as he raised the reins slightly. “I am the one holding him. I do not need him to return. I just need him to behave long enough to reach our destination.”
“Perhaps you should apologize to him and he shall in turn be kinder to you,” she suggested with the hint of a smile.
“Madam, you mock me,” Brand intoned. When she laughed, he could not hide his own grin. “The savage beast you think to be a lamb is no doubt ready for a rest. We can make camp beneath those trees there. Then, you may lead Pebbles to water while I make camp. But, do not accuse me of perfidy if you end up being shoved into the stream.”
By the time evening had fallen, Celena had proclaimed Pebbles the most noble of horses. Brand had groused at her simply to keep the smile on her face. But, the conversation had finally died between them when Brand declared the brace of coneys were cooked. He appreciated that Celena never complained about the simple fare he offered. An unusual noblewoman, indeed.
He refilled Celena’s wooden cup with more water before he shifted his attention to feeding the fire kindling. Celena was already huddled in his cloak against the night’s chill, and he did not want her to fall ill. He was still feeding the fire when she spoke. “Will you tell me of yourself, Brand?”
“I am a scoundrel and a mercenary,” he murmured as he focused on prodding the twigs and stirring the fire into a warmer blaze.
“A mercenary perhaps, but you are not a scoundrel,” she countered. “Please. Aside from your strange disdain for your own horse, who has done naught to deserve it from what I have seen, and your sensible attire, I know next to nothing about you. You know more of me in any case.”
“There is not much to tell.” He leaned back on his heels and caught a glimpse of her pleading look. He sighed. “My father was a soldier. My mother died when I was too young to remember her. I was little more than a half-grown boy when my father fell in battle. I took up the sword and continued his service to my master.”
“What about Pebbles?”
“What of him?”
Celena smiled slightly. “He is a charger. They do not simply wander about waiting to be found by an ungrateful companion. How did you truly come by him?”
He smirked at her teasing and considered repeating the same story before he found himself changing his mind. His amusement faded as he shrugged a shoulder. “He was given to me when I was granted the rank of captain by my master. He felt these were suitable rewards for saving his young granddaughters from a raid. I did not argue. Although I did allow the girls to name him, which is why he is Pebbles.”
Her smile grew, but her words startled him. “You have a kind heart, Brand.”
He cleared his throat and tossed another twig into the flames. “I could hardly deny the master’s grandchildren.”
“You could have changed his name,” she countered. She leaned forward slightly pulling his cloak closer about her frame. “How long did you serve him?”
“From the time I was ten and four until I turned thirty.”
“Sixteen years is a long time. How long has it been since he fell?”
“Not quite two years,” he said quietly. “In the summer it will be two years since the Earl of Ernost fell with his heirs.”
“Ernost?” When he looked at her, she was studying him with a mix of surprise and thoughtfulness. “The day . . . My father brought the son of Ernost to the tower in an attempt to break the curse before it could even take hold of me.” Sadness swept over her expression and entered her voice as she murmured, “Instead they were forced to witness my succumbing to the curse. My father was so distraught. I wish I had been able to reassure him. I tried but the words . . . I could not speak despite my continued awareness.”
“How were you cursed? The bards never agreed on it. One claimed you were cursed as a babe by a sorceress and then succumbed on the eve of your sixteenth birthday.” Brand paused and added drily, “You are certainly not as silly as a girl of sixteen.”
Celena laughed as he had hoped. “I am grateful to hear I am a bit more sensible. I certainly was not a babe when it happened, though.” Her smile faded somewhat before she continued, “We thought we would be at peace. The dragon wars were over in the north, but there were survivors from those battles. One of them, a dragoness, came to our home in Nereida. She is the one who cursed me to a sleep like death itself.”
“What happened to the dragoness?”
“She vanished after stunning all of Nereida by rising to the skies.” Celena held her hands out toward the fire. “I hope she found some sort of peace though.”
“Why would you want that for the dragoness who cursed you?”
Silver eyes seemed to dance with the firelight as she replied gently, “Because it was clear she was suffering too and so she lashed out at my family and me. It is not easy, but I have chosen to forgive her. In some ways it was easier to forgive her than to forgive Shaddai.”
Brand studied her for a long moment, but did not press further. He cleared his throat. “You should get some rest. You look tired.”
Her words still troubled him the next morning as he readied Pebbles. He forced the thoughts and questions she had stirred away. Now was not the time. He patted Pebbles on the neck and then pulled the old map from beneath his jerkin. Celena was still asleep, all but her silver blonde hair hidden from view by his cloak. He intended to leave her that way for a little while longer. He had only just started tracing their route when Pebbles plodded over to Celena and nuzzled her hair. Brand hissed at the horse. “Away.”
The charger happily ignored him and continued making a pest of himself as he stuck his nose inside the cloak’s gap and snuffled loudly. There was a giggle and then Celena sat up resting a hand on Pebble’s face as he continued nuzzling at her.
Brand lowered the map with care even as he rolled his eyes. “Pebbles, for shame. We agreed to let the duchess sleep. Her nap clearly was not restful enough. Now you’ve gone and disturbed her. For shame.”
Celena immediately stroked the horse’s nose as she cooed, “Do not listen to him, Pebbles. We all know you are quite the sweetest charger I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Brand is merely jealous of your attention. You should wake him tomorrow, so he feels loved again.”
“Do not give him ideas, Celena,” he warned.
When she only gave a soft laugh in reply and continued cooing at the horse, Brand grumbled under his breath as he returned his attention to the map.
“Is that a map?”
“Indeed.” He glanced at her and added with a hint of a smirk, “Since you are no longer cooing over that malicious beast, perhaps you would be interested in knowing that we should reach your chosen destination by nightfall.”
Celena abandoned Pebbles in favor of hurrying to his side. She touched a fingertip to the map’s faded ink. “This is very old.”
“Yes. But, it is useful for the wilderness.” Brand glanced at the top of her head and added, “It even led me to you, although your tower is not marked.”
“It used to be a watch tower in the early days of the Five Kingdoms,” she murmured, her attention still on the map. She looked up at him as she grasped his arm and asked breathlessly, “Is there any way we can get there faster?”
“If we rode together, we could perhaps reach there by late afternoon.” Brand hesitated before adding, “There is something you need to know.”
She smiled up at him and rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Brand! Quickly now, we must hurry!”
She rushed back to Pebbles, catching the horse’s reins and murmuring to him. Brand watched her for a long moment debating what he should do or say. But, he had made a promise and he would have to keep it. He still clung to the hope that she would let him give his warning, but she never ceased chattering, this time revealing the stories of Hilida and how her mother in particular preferred their keep to being in Nereida. This was especially true in the summer.
The flow of words did not cease until they were cut short as though by a sword. The afternoon sun hung low nearly touching the mountaintops, but it did nothing to hide the sight before them. Overgrown plants, grass that brushed Pebble’s barrel, and tumbled stones that had once been a wall. Celena’s grip on him tightened as she drew a shuddering breath, then she let go as she nearly fell from Pebble’s back.
Brand winced as she ran toward the ruins. “Celena!”
* * *
She could not breathe. Oh Shaddai, no! She could not breathe. Celena staggered, gasping for air that never seemed to fill her lungs, as she stared at the destruction around her. The tall stone walls and beautifully carved reliefs that had decorated the hall were gone. Only the tumbled and shattered stones remained covered with a carpet of ivy.
Her hands came up to cover her mouth as she continued gasping and tears filled her eyes, but she could not look away. It was all gone. All of it, from the hall to the stables to the tower. All of it was gone.
She dropped to her knees in front of the crumbled steps that once led to the hall. The neglect at the hidden tower had been disturbing but this . . . This destruction was complete, thorough, and it was not new. The wounds on the stone were covered with thick ivy and other plant life. The forest had reclaimed Hilida Keep years ago. No one had come to rescue it . . . or her.
Screaming filled the air. Her screaming. She screamed as the horrible truth lay before her. No one had been there when she woke because they were all gone. Her family was gone.
She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and vaguely heard a man’s voice speaking, but she could not make sense of it. Instead, she curled into his chest and clung to his jerkin as she sobbed. Gone. They were all gone. Everyone she knew and loved was gone. It was so long ago that she alone was left to weep for them. Everything was gone.
She did not know how long she wept but when the heaving sobs finally died, Brand was still holding onto her. He was not saying anything only smoothing her hair. He let go as soon as she leaned back leaving her feeling cold. It was still daylight, but the sun was much lower. Celena sniffled as she tried to wipe her tears away.
When she met Brand’s concerned gaze, his brown eyes seemed to darken as he lowered his gaze. “I am sorry, Celena. I should have found the words to warn you, to prepare you for this, but I could not. Perhaps I was too great a coward.”
Celena grasped his hand as she quickly soothed, “No, it is not . . . This is not your fault, Brand. You warned me at the tower. You warned me that everyone I knew was gone and that a full century had passed but I did not . . . I could not bring myself to believe you.” She took a shaky breath and forced herself to continue, “I have only myself to blame for thinking that legends had been exaggerated and it could not have been more than ten years since I fell beneath the curse. I was wrong. I will not fault you for that.”
Looking around at the ruins, fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. “I could not believe it. Not until now. What happened here? Do you know?”
“I’m sorry I cannot answer. I know only that Hilida Keep was destroyed during the war of succession. I had to find that old map because most of Hilida is considered wilderness and even the borders are no longer drawn on our current maps.” He touched her cheek, wiping away her tears, as he added gently, “I wish you had found what you wanted, Celena. I am sorry it came to this.”
She sniffled. “Thank you.”
Brand withdrew his touch, once more leaving her cold, as he cleared his throat. “Would you be all right with staying here tonight? The keep can provide us some decent shelter. Or, if you prefer, we can press on and put some distance between us and this place.”
Celena glanced at the sun’s position and frowned. “No, it is nearly dusk. It is foolish to press on.”
“Celena, look at me.” When she shifted her gaze back to him, Brand was completely solemn as he stated, “I do not mind travelling further or even pressing on after nightfall if it will help you.”
She stared at him for a long moment before she gave a watery laugh. “I understand why you were the one who was able to wake me. You truly do have a pure heart.”
Brand coughed as a dull red crept up his face but she ignored it as she continued, “We . . . We can stay here tonight.” She looked around the ruins and a fresh wave of sorrow crashed over her. “I hate to see this, but I cannot bring myself to leave it just yet. Even if it is no more than ruins.”
* * *
Celena woke with a start. She sat up and nearly laid back down as it felt as though drums were pounding behind her eyes. She blinked against the bright sunlight, then wiped her eyes. The skin beneath felt puffy from her tears, but she was able to see clearly enough when she opened them once more.
Brand was leaning against Pebble’s saddle and chewing on the stem of a small white flower. His head was tilted back, arms crossed behind, and his right ankle was propped on his left knee. He looked the portrait of a man at ease. Celena frowned at him. “Brand?” She looked up at the sky and frowned more. “Brand, you let me sleep too late! We should have left hours ago!”
He pulled the stem from his mouth but otherwise did not move. “You cried in your sleep, so I let you rest. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, no. Oh, I do not know but were we not supposed to leave today? It must be midday or even later. We will never make good time now.”
Brand’s foot started bouncing as he crossed his arms behind his head once more. “Be at ease, Duchess. We are neither expected by anyone nor do we have a specific destination beyond this point so there’s little enough reason to force ourselves to adhere to a grueling pace fit for armies.” His foot stopped bouncing and there was a slight pause before he added, “Unless, of course, you have already decided on where to go next. Have you?”
Celena’s shoulders drooped. “No. I have not even given it thought yet.”
“That is a good thing.”
She almost smiled. “In what way?”
“You should not be making such an important decision on a whim and especially not when your emotions are still in a snarl. We have time, Celena. Use it.” Then, he stuck the flower’s stem back in his mouth and lazily twirled the flower.
* * *
She was brushing Pebbles when he came back from hunting. Brand adjusted his grip on the brace of coneys and held them up for her inspection when she noticed him. He grinned at her. “I will tell you this much, Celena, the rabbits are far less shy than they must have been before you took your nap.”
She actually smiled at him. Even if she did not laugh, he counted it a good sign. Something to balance the marks left by fresh tears. He made sure to act as though he did not notice she had been weeping again as he came closer. He stroked Pebbles’ nose with his free hand. “Enjoy the attention of the lovely lady while you still can, old boy. One of these days she will have no use for oddities like us.”
“I doubt that shall ever be true, Brand,” came the gentle scold. She glanced at the coneys and added, “Do you want me to cook those?”
“As much as I would embrace such a challenge, I feel it is best for our stomachs if I continue cooking.”
Her smile widened even as she tried and failed to give him a proper scold. “You mean to say you doubt my cooking skills?”
Brand considered for a long moment before he bowed his head. “Precisely.”
She let out a little huff of amusement. “You, sir, have a touch more cheek than you should be using with noblewomen.”
“I suppose you must tell me all of my flaws at once?” he teased.
Celena turned away from him resuming her brushing of Pebbles’ wither. “No. I think it would be best for me to inform you of these flaws when I witness them. It shall extend our acquaintance for some time I think.”
Brand chuckled. “A well placed strike, Duchess.” He strolled toward the remains of the fire. His worries had eased considerably. Celena was far stronger than even she knew. Of that, he had no doubt.
* * *
Celena watched Brand feeding the fire. Night had fallen bringing with it a chill in the air and the scent of rain hung with a threatening promise. They had moved their camp to one of the few areas in the ruin with a makeshift roof, and Brand had crawled along the crumbling walls to add evergreen branches to provide more shelter. Despite her telling him not to do so for fear he would break his neck. Of course, he had promptly teased her for her worry.
“What are you thinking?”
She jumped a little when he spoke, her eyes meeting his contemplative gaze. He rested his arm on his knee and leaned forward slightly, still studying her. “Must be important if you’re ignoring Pebbles’ attempts to beg your attention. What is it, Celena?”
She hesitated, unsure of herself. Then she shook her head. “It is nothing. It can wait.”
“Celena.” He waited until she was looking at him again before he continued with gentle firmness, “Tell me what is troubling you. I cannot help if I do not know what is the matter. And I do want to help you, Celena.”
She hesitated a moment longer before she forced the words past her lips. “You said you thought I should go to the old guard nobles. But this name means nothing to me. Why should I go to them? Why did you think it is wise?”
When he did not answer right away, Celena lowered her gaze to the fire. “I am sorry. I did not mean to cause offence. I am only . . . I do trust you, Brand, I merely wanted—”
“To understand why,” he finished. “That is good, and I understand your reasoning.” Brand was silent again and when she dared to peek at him, he was watching her, but his gaze was distant as though his thoughts were far away. He was still leaning forward with his left arm propped on his left knee, but now he rubbed at his whiskered jaw as he mused, “I suppose the best place to begin is with the start of the war of succession. The old guard were and are those nobles who have remained loyalists to the royal house of Armsterid. The war of succession began when the heir was killed and the husbands of his five sisters each attempted to claim the throne through right of marriage, but other distant relatives allied with different sides so none of them had the majority. The original old guard rallied around the heir’s pregnant widow. Their move prevented her from being slain but when she bore a son, his uncles all claimed the boy was illegitimate despite testimonies to the contrary including the written proclamation by the heir that his wife was to bear a child.”
Celena shook her head. “King Eric and Queen Vanessa’s son was born after four sisters and with his twin, but we all knew he would inherit because he was the male heir. Line of succession always falls to the male line unless there are no sons. Why was his grandson not crowned? It should have happened unless the boy’s mother was caught in adultery.”
Brand shrugged. “I can hardly pretend to know the minds of nobles. I know only that the stories claimed the uncles found a way to lure the widow and her son into a trap, which they blamed on drakes, then the fighting resumed between those five.”
“What of the contender? The Earl of Vainlyn?” Celena frowned in thought. “I can remember my mother writing me about a son of Vainlyn pressing his suit with one of the princesses, but he was rejected. I am certain of it. And, his elder brother had already wed a daughter of another house.”
“Vainlyn still claims royal blood, but the legitimate male line ended with that boy. Vainlyn’s claim is far removed, though he and his forbearers all lay claim to the last legitimate king’s name.”
“Eric,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“To have someone so far removed from the male line be the strongest contender is a grave sign,” she whispered more to herself than to Brand. However, she did not voice her unease about going to the old guard, about going to anyone on either side of a war of succession. She did not believe that Brand would advise her to go to them if he thought she would be in any immediate danger from these nobles. If she were to guess her fate, they would likely attempt to urge her toward a marriage with their best candidate or at least give her promise of support to whomever they choose. If she were careful, she would likely only be forced to give that pledge of support before she was able to find her own way. Yet, she still hesitated.
“Brand, do you believe the old guard to be trustworthy?”
The firelight flickered across his face casting his eyes in shadow, but still he dipped his head. “I believe we can trust them not to harm you, and I believe that going to them will prove safer for you than an attempt to find your own way in Aneirin. At least for now.”
Celena nodded as she mulled over his words. “You mean you believe the old guard will keep me safe from the contender, from Vainlyn.”
“Yes.”
She plucked at the edges of her borrowed cloak and nibbled her bottom lip. To go to the old guard might place her in the middle of a power struggle over the throne of Aneirin. To go elsewhere seemed dangerously sufficient to take her into the hands of the Earl of Vainlyn. Vainlyn was one of the southern estates, and the earl of her time had not spent much time at court. He and his elder three sons were all recruited to the army. She thought she remembered her father naming Vainlyn as the source of at least two of his more troublesome nobles among the dragon hunters. The ones who were not content to fight grown dragons.
If the current descendant of that house was so determined to gain the throne, it would be dangerous to cross him. She glanced up at Brand. He had propped his chin on his hand and his eyes were nearly closed, but she felt certain he was merely waiting for her to decide on something before he would say anything more. She almost asked him more about Vainlyn, about the war, but that was not what came out of her mouth. Instead, she asked softly, “Will you leave Aneirin once you’ve escorted me to the old guard?”
She did not know why, but she held her breath as Brand opened his eyes. He met and held her gaze steadily as he shook his head. “No. I’ll put off my leaving a little while longer.”
“A sennight or perhaps a month?” she pressed. “Would that be agreeable or do you have a specific destination in mind that requires you to leave sooner?”
Brand smiled and then he chuckled before teasing, “Have a care. I should almost think you would miss my presence.”
“I shall miss Pebbles at the very least,” she retorted drily before giggling at his feigned affront.
“Well, we would not want you to pine for that malicious equine,” he grumbled. Then he grew serious as he continued, “You have my word, Celena, that I will stay by your side until you come to feel that I am no longer needed. Then and only then will I leave you.” He paused a moment before adding, “If you truly do not wish to see the old guard, I will not force you to it. I would even let you come with me out of Aneirin. I am quite certain Pebbles would be overjoyed to have your continued company.”
Celena smiled in spite of her efforts to be stern or, at the very least, serene. At least, she had managed to keep her relief from showing when he said he would not leave her. She nodded. “I thank you for the offer, Brand. I would be deceiving myself if I refused to admit that I am not at all certain about going to the old guard during the middle of a war. I . . . I am afraid that we will be swept up in some battle from the moment we leave Hilida.”
“There’s a truce in place. A sign of goodwill from Vainlyn.”
“You do not trust him.”
Brand shook his head. “Vainlyn is never one to be merciful unless he wants something.”
“Well, despite your offer, I find I am more afraid of leaving Aneirin than facing the old guard. Perhaps I shall change my mind once I meet them.” Celena paused then took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she continued, “I will accept your advice, Brand son of Bard. I would have you take me to see the old guard. I think that we should leave in the morning. We’ve tarried among the past long enough, do you not think?”
Brand bowed his head. “As you wish.”
* * *
“Down in the gully. Quickly!” Brand hissed. He breathed a little easier when Celena slid down the embankment until she was well hidden by the brush lining either side of the little gully. It would have been better if the brush had been in bloom.
He grabbed Pebbles’ reins and led the horse a little further away from the edge of the gulley. The caravan’s scouts broke through the trees not a moment later. Brand feigned boredom as he met the familiar gazes of three men who had turned back early in the hunt for the Sleeping Duchess. One of them raised a hand in greeting as he and his companions approached. Brand nodded. “Dirk, Wulf, and James. You seem to have gained a new means of making a living.”
Dirk, the oldest of them all, reined his horse in and then spat in disgust. “Vainlyn’s gone mad. If you’re going to demand the rest of the fee, you’d best turn around now.”
Brand shrugged. “Nobles are always mad for one reason or another. Besides, I intend to collect what I’ve earned.”
James swung off his horse and sauntered up to him, one hand toying with the dagger on his belt. He made a show of looking Brand over before he hissed, “You’ve earned nothing more than the rest of us. You’d be better off selling that horse.”
Pebbles flattened his ears when the scrawny lad gestured at him. Brand loosened his grip on the warhorse’s reins slightly, but kept his tone bored as he replied, “He’s worth at least a dozen of you. I’m better off keeping him. But, I could always collect the bounty on your head, James. Twenty pieces of silver from Baron Halbert, was it not?”
James’ narrow gaze blazed and his fists clenched. “We all know everyone has a bounty. It’s a part of the work.”
“I never had a bounty on my head,” Brand countered. “But, then, I never got caught.”
James’ fist came up and Pebbles’ head darted forward, yanking the reins from Brand’s grasp, as the horse clamped down on the scrawny mercenary’s arm and shook him. James yelped as he was lifted off his feet.
Pebbles let go, causing James to fall in a heap on the ground, and Brand grasped his bridle, shouldering the warhorse out of the way before he could trample the fool. He met James’ glowering gaze and shrugged. “It seems he still likes me more than you. I warned you last time not to do anything around Pebbles. Should have listened.”
James spat a curse as he scrambled to his feet. He was still cursing when he swung himself back into the saddle and kicked his horse into a gallop back toward the caravan. Brand turned his attention back to the other two men. He patted Pebble’s neck. “Why is your caravan so far from the Great Western Road?”
“Wheel broke,” Wulf muttered. He had always been a man of few words.
Dirk nodded, his greying hair falling forward as he did so, and added, “We would have returned to the Road sooner, but there were signs of soldiers and the master of the caravan did not want to get caught in a squabble. Bad for business, you know.”
“Is Vainlyn no longer adhering to his promised truce?”
The men shrugged. Dirk exchanged a look with Wulf and urged his horse closer. Weariness hung about him, etching deeper lines into his craggy face, and his faded brown gaze remained solemn as he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “No one seems to know. Half the nobles are too afraid to move without his command, and the others are waiting for the old guard to rally. The only thing I know without a doubt is that Vainlyn has turned his attention back to harassing his neighbor.”
Brand frowned at the news. “He’s going after the Duke of Glenrowan? Openly? Perhaps he is mad.”
Dirk shook his head. “Vainlyn’s sending messengers to Glenrowan trying to get his support. They’re deposited at the border, sometimes without even reaching the keep. He’s hired mercenaries too. The ones who turned back and some new ones come up out of Belfarad and even further south beyond the pass. He’s tasking them with harassing Glenrowan’s lands and people.”
“A fool’s errand,” Brand muttered. “What’s happened to them?”
“Last I heard, Glenrowan has been sending the mercenaries’ broken bodies back to Vainlyn’s lands,” Dirk said darkly.
“Glenrowan’s never been a fool,” Brand replied. “Vainlyn should have known he would figure out he was the responsible party.”
“Aye.” Dirk turned his horse and then twisted in the saddle to look back at Brand. “You’ve always been a good man, Brand. I’ve never had a quarrel with you. I am warning you now. Any mercenary who does not want to be the next victim of Glenrowan’s wrath had best stay far away from Vainlyn. Take the silver you have and move on. It’s not worth going back.”
* * *
Celena swayed with Pebbles’ easy gait trying not to let the horse’s movement lull her into sleeping. Ever since they crossed paths with a caravan that had ventured from the Great Western Road, Brand had been much quieter during the day. Today, the third, no, fourth day since meeting the caravan marked the first time he had walked beside Pebbles instead of riding double. He still was not very talkative.
She eyed the back of his head. His dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze. He needed a sturdy comb. A smile flickered into being as a thought occurred to her. She kept her voice gentle and low when she finally broke the silence. “Have you considered asking Pebbles if you might borrow his brush?”
“Yes,” came the instinctive response. Then, there was a pause and she could just make out his shoulders moving restlessly beneath his jerkin before he continued drily, “Unfortunately, being the malicious creature that he is, Pebbles rejected my petition and bade me look elsewhere for grooming.” His shoulders moved up and down as he heaved a great sigh and added mournfully, “Given how poor a showing I present with his own grooming, I suppose I should have expected nothing less.”
Celena giggled in spite of her best efforts. Fortunately, Pebbles did no more than flick an ear at the noise. She gave his neck a gentle pat even as she met Brand’s inquiring gaze. “Then, I suppose you have none to blame save yourself for your current dishevelment,” she teased.
“I fear that men of humble birth have little time to preen,” he countered with a slight smirk.
She smiled at that, then she tilted her head slightly as she studied his face. “You have seemed . . . troubled since you spoke with the caravan’s guards. You seem more concerned for our route.” She waved a hand at the quiet forest around them. “Yet, I have not seen so much as a croft since we left Hilida. What happened to the villages that lined the way to Nereida? They were not close together, but we should have passed no less than five by now. Unless they were also destroyed during this horrible war.”
Brand’s smirk vanished. He rubbed the back of his neck before he gazed back up her with a look that reminded her of a boy who had been caught sneaking food from the kitchens. A hint of chagrin entered his voice as he mumbled, “I had hoped you would not notice.”
Celena’s smile vanished and she regarded him sternly trying not to reveal that her heart had started beating faster with the unspoken fear that he had deceived her. “What did you hope I would not notice, Brand?”
He pulled the map from his jerkin and grumbled at Pebbles, “Hold still, you daft creature. A bit of parchment will not harm you.”
“That’s no way to speak to the noble horse who protected you not even a sennight past,” Celena scolded as she laid a hand on Pebbles’ neck. But her gaze was fixed on the map. Brand gestured to a spot on the map that was further south than she had expected. Other than being on the west side of the Great Western Road, it was nowhere near where she had assumed they would be going. “Why have you brought us south? Nereida was an easy journey directly west from Hilida.”
“Nereida is not our destination.”
“Why? Is that not where this old guard holds their ground?”
Brand only shook his head. “Not since the heir’s son died. None of the nobles make their stronghold in Nereida now, at least not without a strong claimant.”
“Is Vainlyn there?”
“No.” He grimaced a little then added, “A sign of how weak his claim truly is because Vainlyn currently does not have enough allies to risk marching into Nereida and occupying the palace.”
“He does not seem a wise choice,” she murmured, her focus still on the map. “Where does the old guard make their stand? How close must we go to Vainlyn’s lands?”
She thought he was pleased by her questions, but he only touched his finger to the faded borders of an estate near the middle of Aneirin. “Here. Count Kester’s keep serves as the old guard’s stronghold. The leadership at least should be there.” He moved his finger down to an estate that was close to the border with Belfarad. “This is Vainlyn’s land. Two or three days’ journey from Kester depending on how fast you ride your horse.”
Celena studied the distance that seemed so small on parchment. Even so, it felt far too close for comfort. She could only pray they would not come across any of Vainlyn’s men. She shifted her attention back to Brand. “Are you worried about him? His men? Is that why we are avoiding villages?”
Brown eyes held hers and yet revealed nothing before Brand looked away as he folded the map once more. “Much has changed since you first took your nap, Celena. Now people will sell information even if it is about their own children in order to put food on the table. The men who were working as scouts for the caravan were once mercenaries hired by Vainlyn to find you. If they even suspected I had found anything true concerning the legend, they would have risked going back to Vainlyn. I do not want information about you to be sold to the highest bidders. At least not until you have reached the old guard and decided on whatever course you wish to take after that. Even then, it would be better for you to stay out of the gossips’ mouths for as long as possible.”
“I understand.” She ran her fingers through Pebbles’ grey mane as she considered the information. “Brand, do you trust the old guard? Implicitly?”
Brand tugged his jerkin back down before taking Pebbles’ reins once more. “I only trusted my old master implicitly. The others . . . They have proven themselves to be rash at times in their desperation to prevent Vainlyn from gaining the throne.” He glanced up at her for a moment and added softly, “It would wise to be on your guard with them.”
“How long do we have before reaching Count Kester’s lands? We have been travelling for much longer than I expected if we are not heading for Belfarad.”
“Ah. Well, I may have chosen a longer route when we left Hilida.”
Celena raised both eyebrows. “Why would you do such a thing? Do you fear losing my company will turn Pebbles savage?”
Brand smiled slightly. “Well the thought did cross my mind that your presence prevents the malicious beast from carrying the worst of his plots against me. However,” he sobered as he continued, “I delayed reaching the old guard because I wanted to reassure myself that I had provided you with enough time to prevent your being overwhelmed.”
“You are a good man, Brand,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “You are one of the few who thinks so. Now do you wish to ride in the front or the back?”
Celena responded by swinging herself down. “Definitely the back.”
He smirked. “Do you enjoy my pulling you back up then?”
“No,” she replied with a sweet smile, “I merely wished to distance myself from your foot. You nearly knocked me into the stream the last time. Remember?”
“You moved. It would have been fine if you had simply sat still as I told you,” he grumbled.
* * *
The fire danced before her, the movement of the flames nearly enough to lull her into sleeping once more. Nearly. But the same question she had been wrestling with for the better part of two days still plagued her, demanding an answer of some sort. Brand’s words when they stopped to make camp, that they would reach Count Kester’s keep before nightfall tomorrow, had only added to the sense of urgency. Of course, it was his advice to be on her guard with the old guard that had prompted her dilemma.
Celena resisted a sigh as she continued watching the dancing flames. Going to the old guard had seemed the best choice when caught between visiting them or leaving Aneirin entirely. Now, though, she was no longer as certain that the old guard would be the men of honor she had hoped. Brand’s description of them as rash and desperate to stop Vainlyn was troublesome. One thing her father had often said was that a man who felt trapped could not be trusted to remember his honor.
It would be dangerous to go to the old guard and trust blindly that they would help her. Though she preferred to hope that the old guard had not quite sunk to such lows as abandoning their honor in favor of whatever attempt would best forestall the Earl of Vainlyn’s claim to the throne, Celena was not a complete fool. If she presented herself to the old guard, she would need to find a way to safeguard the secret of the spindle. And, that was a task she was beginning to fear might prove too great for her to succeed.
Running would be easier. Celena bit her bottom lip as the thought continued hounding her. Running would be easier for her . . . provided she abandoned all hope of returning to Nereida, discovering what had happened after she was caught by the curse. Brand had not told her much more about the war of succession and what little he had revealed seemed to trouble him. Despite her thirst for answers, Celena had kept further questions about the war locked away. She did not want answers at the cost of Brand’s own suffering. She remembered how her father had not much liked to speak of the dragon war. It could only be worse for Brand since he had been forced to fight against his own countrymen.
Yes, running would be easier but it was the coward’s way out. She refused to be a coward especially after Brand delayed his own journey to bring her this far. To turn back now would be poor repayment indeed.
However, there was still the danger posed by the spindle. As long as the curse held her, she could not blithely trust the secret of the spindle to whomever she met. Nor did she think it wise to expose such a weakness to the old guard. Secrets were best kept by one person, two at the most. She needed a way to hide the spindle where none would think to look if searching for any sort of weakness tied to her. She needed . . .
“I realize my cooking remains plain to your standards, Duchess, but I did not think my stew so terrible to warrant a dismissal.”
Celena blinked and raised her gaze to meet Brand’s, which held concern despite his teasing words. She looked down to see he was holding out a wooden bowl filled with the coney stew. She took it as she murmured, “My apologies.”
Brand returned to his place on the other side of the fire and ladled more stew into his own bowl. When he noticed her watching him, he smirked slightly. “Have you grown weary of the coneys?”
An unbidden smile rose to her lips. “Not quiet.”
“I do not think that is entirely true.”
Celena looked down at the stew before glancing back at him. Her smile grew a little wider. “It is of no matter whether I have grown weary of rabbits since only an ungrateful sort with little care for manners would complain of the only offering at the table. And, you worked hard to catch them.”
“Perhaps I should attempt to set Pebbles on a boar or a deer. He might put his malicious nature to work and hunt for us,” Brand mused. He took a bite of stew and then pronounced solemnly, “I should be heartily glad to be rid of rabbits from our daily meal.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “You should not malign Pebbles. He’s been quite sweet.” She paused deliberately before adding, “To me. You are merely sore that he pushed you over when you taunted him yesterday.”
Brand gave her an affronted look as he placed a hand on his chest. “That malicious fiend has clouded your mind, Duchess, and wriggled his way into your good graces. I did not taunt him. I told him only that he needed less oats because he’s straining his girth. Then that creature pushed me into the river with the food.” Brand harrumphed as he waved a wooden spoon in Pebbles’ direction and added, “That creature is why we had no bread to accompany our meals.”
“I did offer to take the food from you before you checked his tack,” she could not help reminding him. She glanced over at the charger who was placidly grazing with nary a care for the conversation. “Pebbles is sensitive, and you should be kinder to him in your speech. Perhaps he would behave himself better.”
“Next you will ask me to bribe him with ribbons like he’s a village girl I want to court,” Brand grumbled without rancor.
Celena’s smile faded for a moment before she rallied. “Not ribbons. However, you might present him with flowers.”
Brand’s smile flashed, then he laughed long and loud. Celena could not resist smiling in response, then Brand grew a little more serious as he studied her. “As much as you care for Pebbles, I do not think it was devising ways for me to apologize to the malicious terror on hooves that had you so lost in thought earlier. Have you changed your mind about meeting with the old guard? There is still time to change routes and avoid Kester’s lands entirely if that is your wish.”
Celena’s smile vanished as a small voice inside urged her to seize the opportunity to escape politics and the fear of being dragged into this war of succession. She crushed it firmly even as she gave her head a quick shake. “No, I am determined to meet with the old guard even though I am not certain how it will go. However, I must find out more about the state of the Five Kingdoms, if they are all at war within themselves and other matters, before I decide on my next steps. I hope the old guard will provide at least some information that would prove helpful in those decisions.”
“A wise plan,” Brand mumbled as he served himself more coney stew.
Studying his face, Celena once more found herself contemplating the danger posed by the spindle. If she were to trust Brand . . . It would be dangerous to share this secret with anyone, but Brand was a man of honor and he had a noble heart that many would miss due to his humble birth. She had already trusted him further than she had ever imagined and yet to trust him with this . . .
* * *
Brand watched Celena closely. She had caught her bottom lip between her teeth again, a sure sign that she was struggling with a choice. Although he was not certain what she could possibly be deciding between since it was unlikely she was about to support his allegations against Pebbles. The charger had managed to charm her where he had failed. Not that it mattered much to him beyond the principle of the thing.
Forcing his mind to focus once more on Celena, Brand cleared his throat. “Are you certain about going to Kester’s keep tomorrow?”
She nodded. Determination filled her silver eyes as she drew her shoulders back slightly and raised her chin. “I am. However, before we go, there is something I need you to know.”
He stayed quiet not saying a word as she pulled her pack into her lap and dug into it. When she pulled a spindle out, he bit his tongue if only because he could see the trembling in her hands and read the nervousness in her eyes as she came close enough to hand it to him. He turned it over in his hands noting it was the same one that had been on her spinning wheel. As he ran his thumb over the damaged point, noting its sharpness, Celena spoke in a whisper. “The curse that bound me to sleep forgotten in that tower was brought to pass by this spindle. I was foolish and failed to inspect it before placing it on the wheel, which is why I pricked my hand.”
“Why bring it with you?” He paused as a thought occurred to him. Shifting his gaze from the spindle to Celena who still knelt by his side, he stated, “The curse is not fully broken. There was more to it than your nap.”
She did not smile. If anything, she only grew graver as she offered a little nod. “It’s true. Until the curse is fully broken, my life is bound to this spindle. If anything should happen to it, I will die.” Silver eyes met his as she added, “As much as I should like to believe that the old guard is comprised of honorable men, I am not so trusting as to not realize the danger this secret poses. It would take only a whisper to the wrong ears for things to turn deadly and as selfish as it may seem, I am not ready to die.”
Brand opened his mouth, but the words died on his tongue as Celena clasped his free hand between her two. The nervousness vanished behind an earnest expression as she pled, “I must beg you to keep both my secret and the spindle safe until such a time as my curse is fully broken. I fear I will be unable to protect them on my own, but I know I can trust you. You are a man of honor, Brand. Will you help me?”
All desire to tease her or to make light of the situation died in that moment. Brand bowed his head as he vowed, “You have my word that I will keep both your secret and the spindle safe, Celena. On my honor, I vow it.”
“Thank you, Brand.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, you should get some sleep. You will not be very pleased tomorrow if you arrive at the keep looking as though you are in need of another long nap.”
She smiled at that, then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Brand stared after her a touch too long as she returned to her side of the campfire before he caught himself. Brand cleared his throat again, hoping she had not noticed, as he busied himself with storing the spindle in his pack. He needed to keep his wits about him, especially since they would approach the old guard on the morrow.
* * *
The square keep rose above the stone walls in a fashion that seemed almost ominous to Celena. The shadows cast from the setting sun threw the surrounding land into gloom while marking out each score and pock scattered across the weathered grey stone. As Pebbles trotted through the gateway, she quickly realized that the keep seemed overlarge because it sat on a hill behind the bailey. The bailey itself seemed smaller than the one at Hilida. There were several groups of warriors in the bailey, all wearing different colors, and all eying the newcomers with clear suspicion.
Celena clung a little tighter to Brand and ducked her head down even as she prayed the hood was still in place. When Brand first insisted she wear the hood up, she had thought him teasing and a little ridiculous but now . . . Now she was more than glad for what little protection it offered against the eyes now boring into them.
There was a shout she could not make out. Then, the tramping of boots. A quick peek from beneath her hood confirmed her fear. The warriors were now encircling Pebbles, although they stayed just far enough away to keep safe from the charger’s teeth and hooves. Brand sat perfectly still though he maintained his relaxed posture with such skill that if she had not felt him tense when the men surrounded them, she would have thought he was untroubled.
Even his voice remained the same, calm and a touch irreverent, when he spoke. “What sort of greeting is this for an old friend? Or is Nigel still sore he lost a race to a charger named Pebbles?”
For a moment there was naught but silence. Then a voice boomed out, “You called him a nag, then presented one of the prettiest chargers I’ve laid eyes on in my life. That was cheating, and you know it.”
Celena felt Brand relax slightly and he leaned forward to pat Pebbles’ neck allowing her to catch a glimpse of a man wearing the same yellow and black as the majority of the men now surrounding them. His head was shaved, but he had a full brown beard that hung to his chest. He was leaning on his spear in a relaxed manner as he looked up at them. Brand gave Pebbles’ neck a final pat before he retorted, “I’ve never cheated. The fact you decided I would ride an actual nag is your own folly, Nigel. But then you had ingested several flagons of wine by that time, so perhaps you were a bit too sodden to understand my meaning.”
“You called a charger a nag without a hint of humor,” countered the man. “What other meaning was there to understand?”
“I would never bring a nag to a race. You assumed Pebbles was no more than that based on his name.”
“Who names their charger Pebbles?” the man protested. “And, who would assume he was a charger based on such a name and your description of a foul tempered nag?”
Celena plucked at the back of Brand’s jerkin praying he had not lost focus. But, he did not acknowledge her as he remained focused on the man before them.
“I am not the one who proposed the race,” Brand stated without even a hint of shame for the smugness in his voice. Then he added blithely, “However, I did not come here to debate the merits of that race or your inability to believe Pebbles was a charger.”
“No.” There was a long pause, and she was certain the man was studying her more than Brand before he broke his silence once more. “You seem to have had a change in companions since I last saw you. Though this one seems shy, does she not?”
“We’ve had a long journey and she gets quiet when she’s tired,” came Brand’s easy reply. “I’ve something to report to the old guard. Who is here?”
“My lord, of course, Count Adred, and Baron Halbert are all in residence. Had you come on the morrow, however, you would have only found my master. Why do you seek them?”
Celena caught her breath as she waited for Brand’s answer. He did not fail her. He offered a half shrug and his tone remained easy, almost insolent as he replied, “As I said, I’ve something to report to them. It regards something that was of great concern to Vainlyn. They will want to know of this matter, I am certain.”
There was another long pause. “Very well. Follow me to the keep.”
She did not relax beneath the shelter of the cloak until Pebbles started moving again. Even then, however, she kept her hood up and tried not to look directly at anyone as she clung to Brand. They passed through a second smaller gate set in the back wall of the bailey and entered a long narrow ramp leading up to the keep. It was just wide enough for a single cart to pass through and as they approached a third gatehouse, Celena had no doubt that the ramp would swiftly turn into a trap should the portcullises be dropped. When they reached the inner bailey directly surrounding the keep, she was once again struck by the sense of harshness. It was an imposing sight and it put her more in mind of a great square tower than the keep at Hilida with its long hall and curved towers.
Brand swung out of the saddle and reached back up to help her dismount. When she was steady on the ground and he had released her in order to turn toward their guide, Celena had the fleeting wish to grasp his hand for reassurance. However, she scolded herself for even indulging the thought. She was neither some child nor close kin to Brand to warrant such an attempt. She was now the Duchess of Hilida, and she would act with the appropriate decorum expected of a noblewoman. Celena raised her chin as she squared her shoulders before following Brand and their guide.
When they entered the keep itself, she could not help noting the absence of tapestries on the walls or the other touches that served to soften the feel of a keep. There were two long swords hanging above the fireplace and above them hung the standard of the Count of Kester with its yellow hawk rampant against the black field. The hall itself was devoid of people and Nigel continued toward the stairs at the back of the dais. Once on the floor above, he led them down the corridor to a door at the far end.
The low murmur of voices that greeted them when Nigel opened the door died abruptly and a harsh voice demanded, “Captain, I told you we were not to be disturbed.”
Nigel bowed. “Forgive me, my lord, but Captain Brand has returned with news.”
“Ernost’s man?” inquired another tremulous voice.
The first voice cut off Nigel’s reply with an abrupt declaration, “No longer. None of Ernost’s men belong to his house now.”
When Celena moved further into the room, she was able to see three men sitting about a table covered by a large map. Two were of an age with her father and the third was old enough to be a grandfather several times over. The grandfather was hunched over the map, but his rheumy eyes were fixed on them. His voice was the same tremulous one she had heard before when he spoke as he extended a gnarled hand toward Brand. “You are Ernost’s man, the young captain he treated as a third son.”
Brand bowed, his voice surprisingly serious, as he replied, “I served as a captain when the Earl of Ernost was my master.”
The broader of the two younger men glowered at Brand, completely ignoring her, as his harsh tone remained unsoftened. “Yet, you did not ally yourself to one of our houses when your master and his sons fell in battle. You are a mercenary.” His greying black hair and beard seemed to nearly bristle with affront as he narrowed hard pale brown eyes at Brand. “If you think I will pay you for anything those mercenaries like to beg a price for, you are mistaken. The only reason I do not give the mark fitting your name is because Count Adred and Baron Halbert both feel we should spare you for the sake of Ernost’s memory. However, if you have come here as a mercenary, I will not stay my hand.”
Celena could not stifle her gasp and she took a step forward intent on getting between them but Brand rocked back on his heels, looking far more at ease than he ought. “Your generosity is appreciated as always, my lord Kester. As I told Nigel, I have discovered something I thought should be reported to the old guard.”
“Discovered as a mercenary,” Count Kester spat. He raised his arm and jabbed a finger at Brand. “Captain, escort this man out. If he resists, give him the brand of the honorless.”
“No!” Celena hurried to place herself between Brand and the other men. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, but she still held her chin high as she lowered the hood so she could better meet the men’s disbelieving gazes. “My lords, please. You must not do such a thing to him. He has done nothing to earn the punishment of a brand.”
Count Kester’s shock faded to an annoyed disgust as he looked her over. “Control your woman, mercenary.”
Brand chuckled. “I could not even if I tried. Besides she is not mine.” He moved to stand next to Celena and offered her a slight nod when she looked at him. He returned his attention to the men and continued lightly, “Before I take my leave of you, my lords, I fear I must assault your ears with my information as a matter of honor. Vainlyn has hired men to search for a legend, most of whom gave up rather quickly and went to find a more reasonable task. Fortunately for all of us, I am not the most reasonable of men when it comes to giving up. I found the legend and it is truth.”
“What nonsense is this?” Kester demanded.
Count Adred, the aged grandfather, raised a gnarled hand. “I wish to hear this, Kester. Halbert, what say you?”
Baron Halbert was neither so broad nor so forceful a presence as Count Kester, but there was a keen light in his tawny eyes as he stroked his clean shaven chin. He nodded. “I agree with you, Adred. Ernost always chose men of honor to serve in his personal guard. Whatever the captain has been forced into since Ernost’s loss, I doubt he has abandoned those qualities. What do you mean when you say you found the legend? What did Vainlyn want you to find?”
“It is not my place to say, my lords.” When Celena cast him a startled look, Brand only inclined his head toward her. “It is hers.”
Kester scowled at her for a moment but immediately turned his steely gaze back to Brand as he demanded, “What does this woman have to do with anything? Is she part of Vainlyn’s latest scheme to take the crown?”
Brand did not say a word; instead, he turned slightly toward her and gave her a look that left the decision in her hands.
Celena kept her hands hidden beneath the cloak praying their trembling was not noticeable. There was no tremor in her words as she broke her silence. “I have no ties to this Earl of Vainlyn, although I have been made aware of his intent to claim the throne of Aneirin. I asked Brand to bring me here to meet with you, my lords, out of a desire to learn what has happened while I was isolated from the world outside my father’s lands.”
“Who is your father, lady?” came Count Adred’s tremulous question though his rheumy eyes had gained a sharp edge.
“I am Celena, the daughter of Cai Geraint, Duke of Hilida.”
“Impossible,” Kester blustered. “Hilida was destroyed long ago, and the line died with the duke of King Eric’s time. This is an imposter.”
“Have you forgotten your own stories, my lord?” Brand interjected lazily. “I found her on Hilida lands hidden far from where anyone would think to search for her.”
“Found her?” Baron Halbert repeated slowly. He shared a look with Adred, then turned to Celena with a strange fervor entering his eyes. “You mean to say this is the Sleeping Duchess? The cousin to King Eric? The one cursed to an enchanted sleep?”
“I woke her,” Brand stated simply relieving Celena of the need to answer.
There was something in the intensity of Halbert and Adred’s now rapt attention that made her want to shy back, but she stood her ground. Count Kester did not look in awe like his fellows. Rather he was studying her with a strange expression she could not decipher before it cleared. He offered her a polite smile as he clasped his hands. “You are the Duchess of Hilida?” She barely offered a nod before he continued speaking. “This is indeed worthy news. But you have come late to my keep, and you must be weary from your journey. Nigel, you will escort the duchess to my lady. Inform the countess that I wish for the duchess to be given a room so she may rest from her journey. One of the family rooms. And, a meal is to be provided for the duchess since I am certain she is too weary to join us in the hall this night.”
“At once, my lord.” The captain offered a bow to his liege before he moved to Celena’s side. “If you will follow me, your grace.”
Celena had hoped Brand would accompany her, but when he made to follow as well Kester spoke once more. “Captain Brand, stay. We have more questions for you regarding Vainlyn.”
* * *
“Did you sleep well, Brand?”
He glanced at Celena who was watching him with soft concern in her silver eyes. His mind flickered back to the long hours he had spent sequestered with the old guard and Nigel answering their questions with as much detail as possible about Vainlyn and as little about Celena as he could get away with, but he only offered her a slight smirk. “Well my bones have protested the sudden change in moving from ground to pallet, but I am certain they shall protest all the more when I leave the pallet for the ground once more.”
She smiled. “Have you apologized to Pebbles for abandoning him to a stranger’s care?”
Brand’s smirk turned into a grin before he quickly smothered it in favor of a much aggrieved sigh. “That malicious creature does not give a whit for my company. He tried to bite me when I went to assure myself that he had not eaten any of the stable boys.”
Celena’s soft laugh was reassuring, but he reluctantly came to a halt in front of the same door as the previous night. The old guard were waiting for Celena and everything in him protested bringing her before them. Of course, that ship had escaped the dock long past and was not to be recovered. He glanced at Celena again and opened his mouth to speak but she had already placed her hand on his arm, smiling at him. “I must thank you, Brand. Even if you are being somewhat overcautious. I have hopes for this meeting now that my presence is no longer a surprise to them.” She hesitated a moment and added in a low voice, “You will accompany me inside, will not you? And stay?”
Brand bowed his head. “I am at your service, Duchess.”
On those words, and despite his misgivings, Brand rapped twice on the door then pushed it open. Celena preceded him inside, and he stepped through before anyone could attempt to dismiss him. The three old guard leaders who remained were waiting for them with an eagerness that made Brand more than a little suspicious of what they now planned. As Count Kester came forward to bow over Celena’s hand with a smile that seemed out of place on his harsh countenance, Brand felt even more uneasy. Kester had been the one most aggressively questioning him regarding both Vainlyn and Celena. He had not been pleased when Brand provided so little information about Celena.
Now though Kester conducted Celena to a fourth chair that had not been in the room the night before, still smiling at her. “Duchess Celena, my companions and I are most pleased that you chose to grace us with your presence. However, there are several questions we should like to ask of you, and there must be questions you have for us. May we proceed?”
“Of course, my lord Kester. It is only reasonable that you would have questions for me.” Celena surveyed the three men with an open expression that made her seem guileless, young, and far too trusting. “I am more than happy to answer as many questions as I am able.”
“The first question is rather simple, dear lady,” Count Adred wheezed as he leaned forward, hands braced atop his cane. “How was it you came to be cursed? The stories related to us never agreed on it.”
“I was cursed by a dragoness to sleep until someone woke me.” Celena paused and smiled sweetly over at where Brand was standing as she added, “I can only thank Shaddai that Brand woke me. I am grateful to him despite the changes that have been wrought to the Aneirin I knew.”
“It must have been most alarming when you woke,” Baron Halbert soothed.
“In some regard, yes.” Celena looked down, adjusting the skirts of her pink-colored gown, before she drew a deep breath. The way she nibbled her bottom lip was almost enough to make Brand stride over to her simply to try to reassure her with his presence. But, he knew he could not move while the old guard was interrogating her. It would be too easy for them to assume any act on his part was an attempt to guide Celena’s answers. He grit his teeth and remained in his place. Celena had to do this on her own.
She drew another deep breath and looked up at the three nobles, offering a tremulous smile. “Forgive me, my lords, I find it takes little to provoke old memories at the moment. Brand was able to tell me a little of the state of our fair country, but I still have many questions. Most of which, I regret I must admit, are quite selfish in that they are borne of my heart’s desire to learn what happened to my parents and my home. Then this war of succession and how it all began . . . I am afraid I still have many questions regarding this too. We had only just celebrated the end of our war with the dragons and it seems impossible to me that Aneirin so swiftly descended into war once more . . . and against its own people.”
The three lords exchanged looks before Count Adred offered a slight nod. He gestured toward Celena with a gnarled hand. “I fear none of us can reveal what happened in those early days. I was born in the thirtieth year of the war, and by then the reasoning beyond a struggle for power and grasping hands reaching for the throne that was never theirs was already lost to us.”
Celena seemed to wilt in her chair before she straightened her shoulders once more and raised her chin. “I understand, my lords, and I thank you for your honesty. I suppose it was too much to hope for such information after so long an absence.”
Count Adred smiled kindly, his voice creaking as he said, “Do not despair, Duchess, I beg you. There is yet hope to be found for I believe that you might have a better chance of answering your questions about those early days of the war of succession in Nereida. The ancient scrolls are preserved there along with all of Aneirin’s history including that which occurred after you were snared by the curse of that cold-hearted dragoness.”
“Yes,” Baron Halbert agreed. “In fact, we would be most honored to provide you with an escort to Nereida.”
Brand resisted the urge to protest the suggestion. Celena cast him a questioning look before she turned back to the old guard still looking rather befuddled. “I am afraid I do not understand your meaning, my lords. I was told there is a ban in place among all nobles against entering Nereida without a claimant. Forgive me for saying so, but it seems quite foolish to breach the ban now when there is a fragile peace between you and the Earl of Vainlyn.”
Count Kester leaned forward, a cunning glint in his eyes that was swiftly hidden away again, as he replied with far too smooth a tongue, “Ah but your grace is unaware that we of the old guard now have a claimant. In light of this, our procession to Nereida will not be prohibited by the ban.”
A claimant? Brand started to frown at the strange development, then he tensed as realization streaked through him. No, it could not be. They would not dare to do so. Even they could not be so desperate as to . . .
“Truly?” Celena questioned. Then, she smiled. “I am glad to hear this, my lords. I should be more than happy to meet your claimant. Who is he? Is he here already?”
Count Kester offered her a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I believe you are intimately acquainted with our claimant.”
Celena’s smile faded and Brand took a half step forward before stilling once more as she looked from one lord to another with her brow furrowed. “I am not certain we are speaking of the same person in this regard, my lords. I know none of the current nobles beyond yourselves. Save for Vainlyn, but that is by reputation alone. Who is your claimant?”
“The Duchess of Hilida, should you agree of course, your grace.”
All traces of Celena’s smile vanished as she gazed at Count Kester with shock written plainly across her pale face. “Me?” She shook her head. “Oh no, my lords, you are jesting with me surely. I am a woman, how can I be a claimant to the throne of Aneirin? We are not Talhaearn.”
Count Adred raised a gnarled hand and a hint of steel weaved its way into his tremulous voice lending his words strength. “We do not seek to establish a line of queens, your grace. However, as the Duchess of Hilida, you are the foremost of all noble houses by virtue of the House of Geraint’s ties to the royal house of Armsterid. Your mother was the Duchess Enid, was she not? The maternal aunt of our beloved King Eric, the last true king of Aneirin. Your father was also descended from the house of Armsterid, was he not?”
Celena darted a glance at Brand but still she answered slowly, as though torn between the urge to be honest and fear of what her honesty would cost, “Well, yes. Through my father, I share a great-great-grandsire with King Eric but that was through the female line. It is not grounds for a claim, my lords.”
“On the contrary,” Baron Halbert interjected with such eagerness that Brand wished Celena had not revealed the royal connection, “your heritage provides you not only with a kinship to King Eric, untainted by his queen’s foreign blood, but you share the same blood of the House of Armsterid. The blood of King Llyr who founded our very kingdom flows through you.”
Kester nodded. “It is a far closer and worthier claim of kinship than that held by the Earl of Vainlyn. His only claim to the throne comes through the third born grandson of the heir’s twin sister. It is weaker and more distant than any of the past claimants.”
When Celena still shook her head in mute rejection, Count Adred spoke once more. “You say you know of Vainlyn’s reputation. I will tell you now that what you have heard has only scratched the surface of his cruelty. His people are downtrodden and worse off than our own while he curries luxury, hoarding it like a dragon. He cares nothing for their suffering. This truce between us is a tool in his hands, nothing more. The people of Aneirin are suffering, they have suffered through nearly a hundred years of war, and they will continue to languish if Vainlyn wins the bid for the throne. He has meticulously worked to eliminate all other men with stronger claims than his own. You are our only chance of winning the throne back to the House of Armsterid and delivering our people, your people, out of this state of constant war and suffering. We do not ask you to do this for our own sakes, your grace, but for the sake of the people of Aneirin so that they might know peace for the first time in five generations.”
As soon as Celena ceased shaking her head, Brand knew that she had been swayed. He wanted to speak up, to sway her from this choice and becoming a puppet to the old guard. But it was not his place. He was a soldier and too lowly to have a voice among nobles. Instead, he could only stand by and watch as Celena nodded. “It seems Aneirin needs time to find a better solution to challenge Vainlyn’s claim. It appears to me that I am the only one who can provide that time.” She rose to her feet and folded her hands at her waist as she continued, “Very well, my lords. I agree to play the role of claimant. However, I urge you to seek out a suitable male claimant who would be able to challenge Vainlyn’s claim. There must be someone left. We need merely keep looking. Until such a time, however, I shall do my utmost to provide a layer of protection between the throne of Aneirin and the Earl of Vainlyn.”
“Your sacrifice will be praised throughout Aneirin,” Baron Halbert promised.
“Indeed,” Count Kester agreed. “For now, however, we shall treat you as a proper claimant, your grace. To begin with, you shall require a house guard. I will select—”
“Forgive my interruption, my lord count,” Celena inserted gently, “but I should like for Brand to serve as the captain of my guard. I believe him capable and I trust him.”
There was a tense silence between the men before Count Adred wheezed, “Of course, your grace. Captain Brand is a trustworthy man and it no doubt comforts you to have someone familiar close at hand.”
After another long minute, both Halbert and Kester voiced their agreement. Brand offered a little bow when Celena smiled at him. However, he did not fail to note the flicker of annoyance across Kester’s face before the count turned solicitous once more and began describing a potential route to Nereida. No, this acquiesce to Celena’s desire was nothing more than the old guard’s determination to keep her cooperative and as their claimant to the throne. Shaddai, protect her. The unbidden prayer rose in his thoughts only for Brand to remember his last prayers for protection had been ignored or denied. No, he would have to be on his guard for Celena since he was certain she did not see the scheme unfolding around her. Whether Shaddai heard him or no, Brand promised himself that he would do everything in his power to keep Celena safe.
* * *
“Are you ready to go, Duchess?”
Celena raised her head quickly and then smiled. “Brand, I did not rescind permission for you to address me as ‘Celena’, did I?”
Brand did not return her smile as he led Pebbles closer to the stream where her own horse was still slurping water. The brown wool cloak she had borrowed for so long was now back around Brand’s shoulders since she had returned it on their third day at Count Kester’s keep after Countess Kester had provided her with items from her eldest daughter’s wardrobe that had been left behind when that lady had wed Count Adred’s grandson. Running her fingers over the delicately embroidered scrollwork adorning the front of the cloak, Celena could not help wondering if she might have been more comfortable travelling with Brand beyond Aneirin’s borders. But no . . . No, that was not her place anymore. She could not now plead with him to take her away.
Celena reached over to pet Pebbles’ mane, laughing softly when the charger whickered then nibbled on the edge of her cloak. When Brand did not even pretend to scold Pebbles for his lack of manners, however, she returned her attention to him. Concern uncoiled in her chest with a steady warmth as she met Brand’s brown eyes. Lowering her voice, Celena asked, “What troubles you? Are we no longer to treat each other as friends? I know I never had the chance to ask you if you would be willing to be the captain of my guard, and I have been meaning to apologize for that overstep.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she continued, “It was only that I was terribly afraid that they would send you away or try to give you the mercenary’s mark again. Something I do not believe you deserve. And . . . And I was afraid that if you were not among my guard, then I would be alone among strangers. I’m such a coward, I know. I promise that once this matter is settled I will release you from service so that you may follow your own plans.”
Brand’s gloved fingers wrapped around hers stilling their movement so she no longer twisted the reins. Celena looked into his eyes and a cool rush of relief filled her when she saw there was no resentment in their depths. If anything, there was kindness, understanding, and a warm light that made her cheeks heat once more. “Celena, I understood why you named me as the captain of your guard. I am glad of it because it has allowed me to stay closer than I might under other circumstances. I gave you my word that I would not leave your side until you no longer have need of me. Forgive my apparent pride but it would seem to me, Duchess, that you have a great need of me.”
She was probably blushing like a girl freshly come of age with no idea of how to speak to men. Celena quickly forced a smile and a little laugh. “Well, I have a great need of Pebbles and sadly his company seems to require yours as well.”
Brand’s low chuckle washed over her, and she was able to smile a little wider. Undeterred by her words, Brand only dipped his head toward hers with a sly smirk. “I knew you had an underhanded motive for making me a captain. My malicious mount has fooled you to such an entirety? It is a wonder he has not completely thrown me over for your favor.”
Celena laughed. “He is not malicious. Should he ever throw you over, Brand, no doubt it will be well deserved after you have offered him insult for the final time.”
The smirk turned into a crooked smile. “Well said, Duchess. It seems your long nap did naught to dull your wits.” The smile faded slightly as he looked behind her. “They are nearly ready to leave.”
Her own smile faded at the reminder of the caravan that accompanied them on the trek from Count Kester’s keep to Nereida. So many more people than she first expected, easily two hundred strong when they left the keep. Although that number had grown as more of Kester and Halbert’s men joined the caravan including Baron Halbert’s wife and children. Only Count Adred failed to accompany them as the elderly man had declared himself too weary to set out on a caravan. But, he had sent half his escort with them to represent Adred’s support.
Celena had spent much of her time in the company of the women while they travelled and whenever they stopped for the night. Baroness Halbert had lent her one of her lady’s maids, and Countess Kester had sent her personal maid every morning to fix Celena’s hair even though most mornings Celena kept her hair in a simple braid. After almost a fortnight’s worth of travel, she was growing weary of her constant companions. Although it was strange she had not felt the same after spending nearly an equal amount of time in Brand’s company when they left her tower.
She quickly pushed the thought aside and offered Brand a little smile. “Then, I suppose we must move on. Do you think we will reach Nereida soon?”
“We should arrive by sunset today.” Brand gave her an odd look as he added, “I should have thought the land familiar with you.”
“In some ways, yes, but . . .” She trailed off as she recalled the fields they had passed where the common folk struggled to plow or to sow seeds. There were so many places where villages had been lost first to war and then to nature itself. Celena shook her head. “We always came to Nereida by way of one of the barges until we were near the city gate. But now . . . There are no barges from the trade road to Nereida.”
Brand’s grip on her fingers tightened a tiny amount, but it was enough to warm her and drag her thoughts away from the despair and sadness at what had been lost. When she looked up at him, he offered a curt nod. “Are you ready to see Nereida, Duchess?”
“I believe so, yes.”
* * *
Celena stared at the walls surrounding the city and palace of Nereida. The weathered grey stone had suffered scores and pockmarks along the wall, and in some places the upper battlements were crumbling. The port south of the city walls was strangely empty with only small fishing boats in the water. The castle still rose above the city itself with its five towers jutting even higher into the air, but no banners flew from the towers. What she could see of the sea wall was concerning as the smooth grey stone she remembered was now covered in green moss a good third of the way up. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that the rest of the sea wall fared little better if at all. The only good thing lay in the fact that the wall still stood, and there were no holes readily apparent that would tempt sea serpents into attempting to reach the inlet behind the sea wall and the castle.
The city gates stood open and when Celena finally passed beneath them she was startled to see a crowd had gathered along the road leading up to the castle. The people of Nereida had changed since she last saw them. Where there had been cautious hope and years of plenty lending themselves to the people’s cheerful celebration of the end of a war and the reestablishment of trade, now there was hunger in every face and a weariness in their eyes that made her want to weep for their hardships. What was nearly thirty years of struggle against dragons compared to a century of fighting against your own kin?
At first the crowd looked on in silence, then someone in the back cried out, “It is the Sleeping Duchess! She’s come back to us!”
“The Sleeping Duchess has awakened!”
“Hail the Duchess! Hail our queen!”
“Hail the Sleeping Duchess! Hail our queen!”
Celena’s mare sidestepped as the voices swelled with shouts and cries and cheers. Even as Celena steadied her grip on the reins, she could not calm her pounding heart. They thought she had come to be their queen. She had come to Nereida with a mind set more on discovering what had happened to her parents but this . . . This was beyond anything she had expected. How did the crowd know? She did not know, but she forced herself to offer smiles and even a little wave.
Her hope that the crowd would settle after seeing she had acknowledged them died as the cheers swelled ever louder. It was not a small crowd either. In fact, the crowd wrapped its way along both sides of the road the caravan was following with more people flocking toward them by the moment. Celena stared in shock as they passed through what her memory insisted had been the bustling marketplace, but now there were more makeshift shelters than shops or booths. What had happened to the merchant lords? Had they disappeared with the traders?
More people surged close, some of them attempting to touch her gown as she rode by despite warnings from the surrounding warriors. They acted as though she could bring an end to famine. As the sharp faces carved by hunger’s touch grew wet with tears or creased with the effort of smiling, Celena could not bring herself to deny their hopes. If she could do nothing else before a proper claimant was found, she would do what she could to alleviate the hunger she saw everywhere. Aneirin needed help. No, Aneirin needed alliances and the reestablishment of trade just as had been done after the dragon wars.
* * *
The faint tendrils of orange, yellow, and pink had only just begun to unfurl across the sky in the east. The beach itself was still coated in the weaker light of the gloaming. Brand inhaled the salt laden air and continued walking across the cool sand. In this moment it was almost as though he were free of all obligation and suspicion, free of the worry that the old guard’s schemes would have too high a cost, and free to rebuild his life in the land of his birth. The cry of a seabird pulled his attention out to the sea, but then Brand shook his head at his own foolish thoughts. He knew better. Once Celena was safe and well protected from schemes by both the old guard and the Earl of Vainlyn, he would leave. Talhaearn was supposed to be calm enough despite the queen’s weakening health. Taliesin, on the other hand, was wrapped in their third civil war as a prince rebelled against his uncle the king.
Celena’s pale face with trust shimmering in the depths of her wide silver eyes rose in his thoughts. A prick of guilt stung sharper than he liked, but he forced it away. She knew he could not stay with her forever. Yet… Yet, he had been fool enough to swear to stay by her side until she decided he could depart. It was enough to make a man question Shaddai as to his own intelligence. Not that Shaddai would answer such a question . . . or any other.
Brand shook his head again, desperate to clear away the lingering thoughts, the questions. His bare feet were covered by a cold wave and he staggered to the right to escape the surf. When he looked up he realized he was not alone on the narrow stretch of beach just north of Nereida’s sea wall. Brand’s eyes narrowed as he peered through the predawn gloom. A shadowy figure hunched over something further up the beach.
He started running before he even knew why. As he came closer, however, fury filled him. The figure was tugging on a tangled mass of nets and struggling within them was a seal. Brand ran faster as the man pulled the trapped seal further up the beach and reached for a cudgel. He grabbed the cudgel and pulled hard, dragging the man off balance. The man uttered a curse and spun to face him, swinging out as he did. Brand blocked the strike and struck the man’s jaw sending him sprawling in the sand.
Brand stood over the man, still holding the cudgel, breath coming fast and hard as he glared down at him. “Fool! Seals are protected.”
The man swiped away the blood trickling down his chin and then spat, “My master wanted fresh meat. The baron will—”
“Eat fish just as the rest of us,” Brand retorted. He raised the cudgel and threw it as hard as he could into the waves. At the man’s wordless cry of protest, he glared down at the man until the fool looked away. “Get up and go back to the palace. I do not want to see or hear of you returning to this beach. Go!”
The man finally scrambled to his feet. He spat another curse, but turned and ran back toward the palace.
Brand watched him go to be certain the fool would not attempt to return with friends, and then he turned back to the tangle of nets. The seal was breathing hard, its slit nostrils flaring wide, and its sleek grey fur still wet from the surf. Brand murmured softly to it when it started thrashing again at his approach, “No, no. I’m not going to hurt you, little seal. I am merely going to help you out of this snarl. Easy, easy.”
The seal must have already been exhausted from its earlier struggle as it stilled quickly. However, its wide liquid eyes watched him warily as he drew near and dropped into a crouch. Brand kept murmuring as he drew a knife from his belt. “Easy, easy. Just need to cut a few ropes and back to the sea you go.”
The seal’s breathing seemed heavier as he started cutting through the wet ropes. Brand grumbled, “Fool does not have the sense of a seagull. Hunting seals, Shaddai help us. As though Aneirin needs more curses.”
“Hunt a seal and the sea, Aneirin’s lifeblood, will be cursed. No fish, no wind, no trade. Only death and despair. Respect the seals or beware.” His grandmother’s recitation of the old warning proverb echoed through his mind. He could almost see her stern disapproving visage in response to any hint of rebellious thoughts in a young lad. It had been the night before he and his father were to accompany the master to a seaside village. He no longer remembered why, but he remembered the warning even now as a man grown as clearly as the evening his grandmother had voiced it.
The net went slack. Brand glanced down as the seal wriggled free and shuffled into the surf. He rose from his crouch, not wanting to frighten the creature by staying too close. The seal turned its head and looked at him with a surprising intensity in those liquid eyes. Opening its mouth, a woman’s breathy voice voice emerged. “You have my thanks, Sir. What is your name?”
“Brand, son of Bard.” The words fell from his lips out of habit, but he still could not quite believe his eyes . . . or his ears.
The seal gave a slight nod, then she spoke again. “You have my word that I shall tell my family of your deeds here, Brand, son of Bard. Shaddai keep you well.”
Then, she slipped beneath the waves.
Brand stared at the ocean’s gently rolling waves for a long time before he shook his head, a low bark of laughter escaping him. A selkie. The seal had been a selkie. It seemed they still lived near Aneirin’s shores after all.
He gathered up the ruins of the net and hurried back toward the palace. He needed to find Celena. She would want to know of the selkie. Of that, he had not doubt.
* * *
Celena could not quite stop herself from laughing. “A selkie? At the beach here? That’s wonderful!”
She paused again, studying Brand’s expression. He was still so serious, so guarded. She pulled her robe more tightly around herself and shivered in the draft. The available rooms in the living quarters were small in number and many in the royal wing had fallen into such disuse that it would have been cruel to require servants to clean them the very same day they arrived in the capital. She shivered again as the draft reminded her that Nereida’s walls were not the only things that had fallen into disrepair since she last walked this city.
Ignoring her discomfort, Celena waved for Brand to take a seat opposite her own. “Please join me for the morning meal. I need to think, and I do not want to see you wasting away from hunger while I do so.”
That won her a tiny crooked smile. The rush of warm relief through her was almost enough to make her forget the draft as she poured him a drink. Her mind, however, was already racing with the implications. “You say the man was one of Baron Halbert’s?”
Brand gave a nod. “I confirmed it as soon as I returned from the beach. He’s an assistant to the baron’s huntsman.”
“Assistant to the huntsman,” she repeated. “And, he intentionally hunted a seal? What could he have been thinking? Aneirin’s never held with hunting seals because we cannot tell the difference between them and the selkies by sight alone. This tradition held true even during the war.”
When there was no reply, Celena looked up from her bowl of mash and met Brand’s solemn gaze. His tone was gentle enough to make tears threaten as he spoke. “I am afraid few still remember the selkies. Even among the nobility. The fear of a selkie’s curse on the sea has faded from memory. Perhaps because many feel Aneirin has already been cursed.”
“Aneirin is not cursed,” she countered firmly. “We are changed and weary, but we are not cursed.”
Brand raised an eyebrow at that pronouncement and she blushed. Then, she laughed. “I may be under a curse, Brand, but I assure you Aneirin is not.” She waved her hand at the room as she added, “This, all of this, is within our power to fix. Shaddai willing, we can bring Aneirin out of this turmoil.” She smiled slightly at him. “I believe I know just where to begin now.”
* * *
He should have attempted to talk her out of this or to at least make her pronouncement elsewhere. Instead, Celena now stood on the lip of a fountain near the center of what she claimed had once been the marketplace. It was more a place for refugees than market now. Her silver blonde hair gleamed beneath the midday sun and flowed around her shoulders stirring slightly in the breeze off the sea. Her face was marked with care and compassion as she looked around at the gathered crowd.
Brand shifted his feet where he stood in the shadows just to Celena’s left. He would have preferred standing directly behind her, but she had insisted on standing up there by herself. He glanced around reassuring himself that the men he had placed in the crowd were in their positions. The crowd’s hungry faces gazed at Celena as though she were sent by Shaddai Himself.
Celena’s gentle voice carried well through the silence as she spoke. “People of Nereida, of Aneirin, from the beginning of our kingdom when Llyr married Nereida of the Sea, we have known and understood that the seals were not to be hunted. For by hunting them, we risked murdering members of another race, the selkies. This tradition allowed our kingdom’s trade across the seas to flourish as it would not have without our old ties to the selkies.”
The crowd stirred slightly, and Brand edged a little closer to Celena as he scanned their faces once more. His gaze paused when it fell on two men almost directly across from him, further back in the shadows. He could not make out their faces, but he could see they stood apart from the rest of the crowd and their attention seemed riveted on Celena.
“However, I have learned that this tradition has nearly been lost since the days of King Eric, son of Lear. And this cannot be! For we are not Aneirin if we ignore or lose such traditions! Traditions that allowed us to live peacefully and flourish! Therefore, to show I have not forgotten . . . we have not forgotten our traditions . . . a new decree shall be introduced into Aneirin law that shall protect all seals from malicious and intentional harm. This decree will honor our old ties not only to the sea but to the selkie people who were once our allies.”
The crowd roared with approval and Brand could hear whispers of “Queen Celena shall break the sea’s curse!”
He glanced again at the strangers, but the men were gone. He took a step forward, almost going to search for them, but he stopped and forced his focus back to Celena. She was smiling faintly as she nodded to the crowd. Then, she turned to him and her smile grew slightly. Brand reached for her grasping her hand solidly as he steadied her descent. He silently offered her the pale blue shawl she had used to cover her distinctive hair on their way down.
Once she was covered, Brand signaled his men before offering Celena his arm. Her grasp tightened once they escaped the main press of the crowd who were still calling out praises. She darted a glance at him, her silver eyes sparkling, and her lips curling in a faint smile. “I believe they agree with me.”
“It would seem so, Duchess,” he agreed with feigned solemnity. Then he ducked his head to whisper, “Now I am most curious as to the nature of the other changes you are planning. Would they involve fish or the removal of moss or perhaps the removal of mossy courtiers?”
Celena giggled. “That was too bad of you, Brand, and I cannot believe you do not know it.”
He shrugged. “I am but a simple soldier, Duchess. How could I help but speak my mind about the moss?”
She laughed again, her hand tightening on his arm once more. “Very well, I promise to attend to the moss.”
“Excellent.” He waited for the span of two breaths exactly before he asked, “Shall I provide names to hasten the process?”
Celena laughed then hurried to cover her mouth though her silver eyes still sparked with mirth. She hissed, “Behave yourself, sir, or I shall have to conclude that you are in fact the source of ill manners for dear Pebbles.”
Brand fought a smile as he pretended to be stern. “Again, you slander me, madam. And again, I see that the malicious beast who should not even be called a horse has turned you utterly against me.”
She laughed once more and then grew quiet as they passed from the old market into the houses that once belonged to the assorted nobles of Aneirin. Her steps slowed as they came abreast of one house. The stone walls were in slightly better shape than some, but ivy clung to them. The windows were broken open and the door hung at a haphazard angle. Celena’s grip on his arm tightened once more until he could almost feel her nails digging through his sleeve.
“Celena?”
She did not answer, only stared at the house.
Brand looked around. There were still too many people about for them to linger. He lowered his voice as he spoke once more. “Celena, we must keep moving. It is not safe for you here.”
“He said that,” she murmured in an undertone.
He frowned and when he urged her forward, she went still clutching his arm as though he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing. Something that might be true given the way she had blanched. The urge to pick her up and carry her to the relative safety of the palace swept over him, but he forced himself to remain still. Such an act would only draw suspicion, not mention overshadow Celena’s success with rumors of illness or some other form of weakness. Still he could not combat the worry now creeping over him every time he glanced down at her drained expression. It was as if light and joy had been suddenly and abruptly drained away to be replaced with despair and pain. It was far too similar to the pain he had seen when they came to the ruins of Hilida Keep.
Urging Celena into the palace, Brand ushered her to her room as quickly as he dared. Once he guided her to sit on a chair, he pushed the shawl off her head. Celena did not look up at him as he had hoped. Instead, her head drooped so her face was now shielded by her silver blonde hair.
Brand knelt in front of her chair and carefully reached out to touch her tightly clasped hands. They trembled beneath his fingers, then he heard a sniffle. “Celena, what is it?”
When she did not respond right away, he nodded even as a frown formed. “I understand. I will leave you be. The old guard probably will not look for you until at supper.”
He started to stand only to stop at a hoarse whisper, “Do not go. Please.”
Brand knelt once more, his hand still covering her trembling ones. “Are you certain?”
She nodded. Then, she sniffled. She looked at him with tears shimmering in her eyes, and summoned a wobbly smile. “Forgive me, Brand. I fear memory has won this round.”
“You knew the place we stopped.”
He guessed at its nature but said nothing. Instead, allowing Celena to tell him if she desired. After another sniffle, she nodded. Then, she wiped her tears away as she murmured, “It was our home in the city. I had not seen it in four years. Not since my father said it was too dangerous for me to stay in the city where the dragoness had cursed me, and he sent me to hide away in the tower.” She wiped more tears away and gave a low, watery laugh. “You must think me weak to weep over an empty building.”
“No. It was your past and your home once. There is no shame in mourning its loss.” Brand squeezed her hands gently as he added, “You are stronger than you think, Celena.”
She offered another tremulous smile. “It is . . . It is kind of you to say so, Brand. I do not think I am very strong at all.”
“Well, I shall think it for you until you start believing it,” he countered. “I have thought you were anything but weak since you first woke up from your nap.”
Her next smile was far less shaky and almost reached her eyes. “You are a kind man, Brand, son of Bard.”
“And here I feared you believed me heartless because Pebbles has been swaying you,” he teased.
“Well, you are rather incapable of accepting compliments, much unlike that sweet horse of yours.”
Brand rose to his feet but smothered his chuckle. “Sweet? That malicious creature has dragged me through briar patches and you call him sweet?”
“Perhaps if you did so, Pebbles would be kinder to you,” Celena countered.
Before he could think of a response, however, the door flew open and banged against the stone wall. Brand whirled, sword in hand, then he straightened and quickly returned the sword to its sheath as he rocked back on his heels forcing an appearance of ease. “Count Kester, you should knock before entering a lady’s chamber.”
The count did not even acknowledge him as he leveled a glare at Celena. “You went among the rabble and promised a decree against seal hunting?”
Celena moved around him although he would have preferred she stay away from Kester when he was in this sort of mood. But she only replied with a gentle calmness, “I went among the people and gave them a promise of change. One that was quite welcome.”
“Only because they actually believe in curses,” Kester sneered.
Brand bit back a hot reply and forced his grip on his sword to loosen. A quick glance at Celena proved she had only raised her chin slightly. “Whether there has been a curse on the sea or not, people respond when their leaders make an effort. Is that not what you wanted me to do? As the . . . claimant?”
Kester’s sneer twisted into a near snarl before Baron Halbert hurried into the chamber. The milder of the two men, Halbert’s presence seemed to remind Kester of their need to keep Celena cooperative and his snarl faded. Instead, the count nodded. “It is true that we wanted you to make an impression on the people, Celena.”
“Your grace,” Brand interjected.
Kester’s gaze was murderous as he shifted his attention to Brand. “What did you say?”
Brand offered an insincere smile as he rocked back on his heels still keeping one hand on his sword hilt. “The Duchess has never given you permission to address her so familiarly, and this feels as though it might be considered an official meeting. You should address her as ‘Your Grace’ as I’m sure you would have recalled at any moment.” Brand’s attention flickered to Halbert, noting the man’s nervous anger, before he looked again at the fuming count. “Should I summon a scribe?”
“Captain, your insolence is not to be borne! You will be removed from the Duchess’ house guard at once!”
“I am sorry you do not appreciate Brand’s humor, Count Kester,” Celena offered. A hint of firmness entered her voice as she continued, “However, you cannot dismiss my guard.” She turned away from the gaping lords and gave him a reproving look. “Brand, behave or I will encourage Pebbles to misbehave to his heart’s delight.”
Brand bit back the blithe reply hovering on the tip of his tongue and offered her a curt bow. Then and only then did he step back, positioning himself once more just behind her right shoulder where he could best defend from an attack. Halbert might be more in awe of the living legend of the Sleeping Duchess, but Kester had a temper and Brand did not trust him.
Celena nodded slightly. “My lords, you have agreed that I was to make an impression on the people of Nereida. They need hope if they are to carry on through this time of transition. I still do not see where I was wrong to introduce the decree against seal hunting. Aneirin needs all the allies she can find. This decree could help us gain one of the more powerful of our former allies.”
Kester and Halbert exchanged a look. Halbert running his hand over his clean shaven chin, his tawny eyes speculative. “You mean the selkies? They died out with the dragons.”
“A selkie was seen on the beach just this morning,” Celena countered. “She spoke of her family. I do not see that as an indication that their race has died out.”
“Selkies or no selkies,” Kester grumbled, “you should not have promised a decree without first consulting us. You are fortunate that the fishing has improved these last few weeks or else you would have been met with a riot. You must use greater caution and allow our own knowledge of the country’s present needs to inform your decisions from this point forward. The wrong promise, the wrong idea, the wrong word, and all of our work will come to naught as the people riot and Vainlyn can sweep in to claim the throne. Do you wish that to happen?”
Celena stiffened perceptibly and it took all of Brand’s discipline to keep from reaching out to touch her . . . or to punch Kester. “I . . . No, of course not. I merely thought this was the right thing to do.”
“This time it was, your grace,” Halbert soothed. “What my lord Kester means is only that when we learned you had left the palace and a crowd gathered because of you, well, we feared Vainlyn’s spies might have found their way into Nereida and stirred the crowd against you.”
“Yes, I understand, and I am . . . I am sorry that I concerned you. It was not my intent.”
Halbert nodded. “You agree to consult us before making such an appearance again?”
Brand wanted to urge her to say no, to deny this attempt to leash her to the old guard’s will, but he dared not interrupt again. Instead, he waited as Celena bent her head. Her shoulders rose and fell before she lifted her head once again. Her voice was calm and steady as she murmured, “I see I have not fully adjusted to the differences that have been wrought since I was last in Nereida. You are correct, my lords. I welcome whatever council you might be able to share with me as we move forward.”
Both men bowed, Halbert’s deeper and more elaborate than Kester’s. Then, the baron stepped forward and offered his arm. “If you would accompany me, your grace, there is a map of the harbor I would like to show you.”
Celena nodded and took his arm. “Of course. Perhaps you can also tell me of Aneirin’s current trading partners.”
“In good time, your grace, but first the map.”
As Brand fell into step behind Celena and the baron, he was wrenched to a halt. He met Kester’s blazing glare as the man hissed, “You will keep the duchess from wandering away from the palace or I will have you replaced. Do you understand?”
Brand said nothing, merely held the count’s gaze until the man finally released his grip. Kester uttered an oath under his breath and stormed down the corridor. Brand straightened his tunic and then hurried in the other direction, his long strides allowing him to swiftly catch up to Celena and Halbert. When Celena glanced over her shoulder, he nodded to her. The way concern fled her gaze in response warmed him. Too much. But he could not leave while Kester sought to make her a puppet on the throne of Aneirin.
* * *
The covers were too heavy. Celena kicked them off and rolled onto her side, pressing her cheek into the pillow, and closing her eyes once more. But her mind still buzzed with the words of the old guard and her own feelings on the matter were so confused, so tangled. If she had been spinning, she would have been forced to cut the strands and begin anew. Unfortunately, it was not so easy to untangle her thoughts.
Celena rolled onto her other side, squeezing her eyes shut, even as Count Kester’s harsh words whispered through her mind. “The wrong promise, the wrong idea, the wrong word, and all of our work will come to naught as the people riot.” She had made a promise, but she had seen the people respond, eager for something . . . for hope. Yet now . . . Now, she feared she had made a grave mistake in even attempting to step into the role of claimant.
She tossed and turned searching for sleep’s elusive peace. Instead, Kester and Halbert’s scolding words continued to haunt her. Had Count Aldred come to Nereida yet, he likely would have joined in the scold with his creaky voice. Her attempt to learn more about Aneirin’s current state of trade had failed abysmally as Halbert had remained solely preoccupied in having her compare the map of the harbor to her memories. If she had nearly erred in her decree protecting the seals, perhaps seeking more knowledge of the kingdom’s trade would have only led to the very disasters Count Kester feared.
After yet another failed attempt to escape her own thoughts, Celena sat up. She dressed in one of her rescued gowns. The soft blue linen with crisp sleeves not quite reaching past her elbows had more modest beading along the neck and down the front than her silver gown, but still blended selkie and Aneirin fashion. She added a shawl before slipping out the door. As she suspected, the guards Brand had placed in the corridor were facing away from her chamber. Closing the door softly in her wake, she crept in the opposite direction. The last thing she wanted was to explain herself to the guards . . . or to Brand.
The palace remained much the same as she remembered, though now it was sadly underused. She walked by bare walls that she remembered being covered with rich tapestries and barred rooms that she remembered being open to all. She considered seeking out the library, but her feet carried her elsewhere. Until she finally reached the hall of portraits.
There were protective cloths draped over all the portraits concealing them from sight. Unable to help herself, she went to one of the largest portraits and pulled the cloth off. The magnificent painting of the first rulers of the Five Kingdoms and the other great races still provided a vibrant picture of what had once been, when dragons, gryphons, selkies, shape changers, and the even more mysterious gargoyles and centaurs still engaged freely with the children of men. The gargoyles and centaurs had been the first to vanish from the Five Kingdoms, so long ago no one even knew if they yet walked the face of Sonera. She studied the gargoyle, an elegant and refined woman with pointed ears and leathery wings that looked similar to a dragon’s, more closely. She wondered if this woman had truly been the gargoyles’ representative and if she had doubts as to her role.
The queens of Talhaearn had ruled from their founding. She remembered that both the queen and the crown princess had carried themselves with grace and assurance when they arrived in Nereida only a day before the dragoness’ visit. They had been born to rule in the tradition of their foremothers, but none of the other kingdoms had ever been ruled by a queen who was not serving as regent. Aneirin in particular had not been under a queen mother’s regency since two centuries before King Lear’s rule because there had been uncles or trusted council members who formed the regency.
Celena turned away from the portrait and walked to a smaller one. She tugged the protective cloth off and studied the painted likeness of the man who had been both cousin and godfather to her. King Eric’s black hair had not come from her aunt, but the blue eyes she remembered as being the same color as the sea and sky together certainly came from that side of their families. The painting was one commissioned not long after he married Vanessa of Talhaearn, a cousin to the queen, and showed him younger and less careworn than the cousin she had known.
She reached out just brushing her fingertips over his painted likeness as a sigh escaped her. “I know you never would have dreamed I would be counted a last line of defense for your throne, Cousin Eric. However, I am trying so hard to do the right thing. Would you be proud of me or have I shamed you already?”
“They say those who have passed from this life no longer need care or worry for what happens here,” came a gentle and unfamiliar voice. Celena whirled as the voice added, “Yet, you seem in need of a friend. Perhaps I may help.”
“Who is there? Show yourself.” She could only hope the stranger did not hear the quaver in her voice. She drew a steadying breath and forced herself to stand tall even though she wanted to hide as the irrational fear that the dragoness had come back for her flitted through her mind.
There was movement to her left and she turned to face it as a woman stepped out of the shadows. The moonlight filtering into the hall played across her deep red hair that hung in loose curls over her bare shoulders and glinted off the beads sewn into her sleeveless green gown. Celena’s gaze dropped to the sheer beaded overskirt and rose once more to meet wide, slightly tilted eyes of sea green. Yet, a kindness shown in them as the woman nodded. “I am Naia.”
“The Selkie Queen?” The words fell from her lips without thinking as she gazed at a woman who did not even look old enough to be more than five and thirty, much less someone who had to be over one hundred years of age.
Naia looked startled for a moment, then she smiled. “I did not think my name would be remembered after so much time passed for humans.”
Celena’s cheeks grew warm as she recalled Brand’s words about the people dismissing selkies as legend. “I am afraid there would be few today who would know you, your majesty.”
“Naia,” came the gentle correction. The selkie queen tilted her head slightly then asked, “Would you happen to have a cheese wedge with you? I’m quite fond of that particular delicacy and it has been impossible to trade for it in the last decade.”
“No, I am sorry to say I do not. However, I could fetch some for you,” she offered.
The selkie waved a hand stopping her before she could even take a step. “No, I did not come to Nereida for cheese.” A smile curled her lips once more as she added, “Though Malik might disagree.”
“Then why did you come here? Why not before now?”
The smile faded and for a moment the selkie looked grieved. “It was too dangerous after Eric and Vanessa, our allies and our friends, were killed then their daughters’ husbands tore this country apart because of their greed. The Great Selkie decreed Aneirin’s shores forbidden to all in our clan. If we traded at all with the Five Kingdoms, we went to Belfarad though the journey was farther. And, that trade too faltered as time brought more war to the realms of men.” Naia met Celena’s eyes once more and her smile returned. “But when I heard there was new claimant to the throne of Aneirin, I was curious. Then, Malik and Roi reported that this woman had pledged to ban seal hunting by turning a tradition into part of the law to honor our former alliance. I knew I needed to come here.”
“You came here because of me?” Celena shook her head. “I am sorry, I did not mean to sound so rude. It is only that I am . . . It is just that my cousin told me so many stories about you and how brave and skilled you were that I . . .”
She trailed off as the selkie raised a hand once more, her eyes narrowing as she peered up at Celena. “There is something familiar to you, but I am certain we have not met. You speak of your cousin as if we were acquainted.”
“Yes . . .” Celena gestured helplessly at her cousin’s portrait. “Eric was nephew to my mother—”
“Enid? You are the daughter of Enid and Cai?”
She nodded.
The selkie queen’s gaze softened once more. “I remember. The christening we were invited to because Eric was so pleased that his mother’s younger sister had finally been blessed with a healthy child. It was held in the gardens among the roses. It was the last time we visited Nereida for a score of years . . . That was when Eric reached out to us again seeking to reestablish trade.” She shook her head almost as if to clear away memories. Her gaze sharpened as she continued, “I think you should tell me how you have come to be here beyond the lifespan of your race.”
The statement broke her, and she found herself spilling everything that had happened from the day she was cursed to the horrible meeting with the old guard. By the time her words ran out, they were both sitting on the floor with their backs braced against the cool stone wall. Celena sighed as she brushed back her hair. “They say they want me as queen because I’m the closest kin to King Eric and the house of Armsterid, but I do not know if I can do this. We are not Talhaearn. I was raised to be the lady of the house, a duchess, not the queen of a country. I want to help my people, but I fear I will fail or even make things worse for them.”
“You agreed to come here as the claimant, did you not?”
She offered a reluctant nod. “Yes, but I only did so to keep the Earl of Vainlyn from going unchallenged. I urged the old guard to find another claimant, a male descendant of the royal house who would be a better fit.”
“He would have no better training to sit on the throne than you do should such a man even live today,” came the gentle point that still cut her to the quick. Before she could offer a protest, however, Naia added, “I wonder, Celena, if your fears are not partially grounded in your desire to avoid more hurt.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she dropped her gaze staring instead at her hands. “I do not even know what happened to my parents,” she whispered. “I am afraid that if I do the wrong thing, then innocent people will die because of me. I do not know how to be queen.”
“Perhaps not. However, I think you know more about how to lead your people than you yourself might believe.” Naia’s slim hand covered her clenched ones as she continued, “Shaddai has given you a tender heart and, as someone dear and wise once told me, there is no shame in being tenderhearted. If anything, it is a gift. You woke in a land so changed from what you knew that it might as well have been a foreign country and yet you chose to be the claimant to the throne, not out of desire for the throne but out of a desire to protect your people. That care makes you a worthy queen.”
“Caring for their plight is not the same as being able to do something about it.”
The selkie queen raised both brows at that and tilted her head slightly. “No. However, if you strive to do what is best for your people, you will be on the correct path.” She squeezed Celena’s hands comfortingly and rose to her feet pulling Celena up as well. “There are many challenges for you. My advice is to address them one at time.”
She looked at King Eric’s portrait for a moment and turned back to Celena with a slight smile. “You asked if he would approve. While I can assure you that the idea of a ruling queen never would have crossed Eric’s mind, in this case, I think your cousin would be both proud and grateful to you.”
Celena offered a slight curtesy as she murmured, “Thank you.”
The selkie queen walked toward the shadows before stopping once more. She looked over her shoulder at Celena. “You should keep Brand close. From what I have heard of him, it is clear he is a man of honor. A man of honor is worth five times as many men who seek after their own comfort.”
She could not think of a thing to say and so only bobbed another deeper curtesy. When she looked up once more, the selkie was gone. Celena looked first at the portrait of her cousin and then to the portrait of the great races. Perhaps it was not so impossible to hope for renewed ancient alliances, after all. Perhaps . . . Yes, perhaps she would be able to help her people. It would just take time and Brand would no doubt be able to aid in her quest for more information. He at least did not treat her as a small unlearned child. Yes, she was certain he would help her find ways to aid Aneirin.
* * *
He hesitated only a moment when he pushed the door open to find her writing. The quill scratched across the heavy vellum with every notation. He did not speak until she raised the quill, intent on dipping it in ink once more. “Pardon the interruption, your grace, but Owen the scholar has requested an audience.”
She looked up at that, fear and hope leaping into her silver eyes, before she let the quill drop into the ink well. A quick nod and wave had him pull the door wide and beckon to the wizened man outside. He shuffled forward with surprising speed and offered his best bow. “Your grace, I cannot begin to describe my delight at being witness to the return of the Sleeping Duchess. It is my dearest wish that you might grant me an audience to learn of how you were enchanted and then the curse broken.” Owen straightened and gave a creaky laugh at Celena’s carefully crafted pleasant expression. “Oh but not today, your grace. Your man here has already explained you have much to do this day, and I would not wish to delay you more than is necessary.”
She glanced at Brand for a brief moment before immediately returning her gaze to the elderly scholar. “You have come to see me for a specific reason, Master Owen? Though I cannot share my own tale at this time, perhaps there is another need? Can I be of help to you?”
“Ah no, your grace.” Owen’s good humor faded, replaced with a seriousness that made Brand edge closer. The scholar’s thin shoulders rose and fell before he finally stated, “My understanding is I can be of help to you. Regarding the previous Duke of Hilida.”
He thought she flinched. It was such a small movement, however, he was not certain as she dipped her head. “Please, Master Owen, take your ease.”
The man settled into the chair opposite her small table and spent time fussing with his worn brown robes before he was apparently satisfied. Only then did he break his silence. “Your grace, I am one of the keepers of key documents and letters that detail the fall of the House of Armsterid into this terrible war. I have spent the last fortnight since I heard you were coming to Nereida searching for the fate of the House of Geraint and the duchy of Hilida.” There was a long pause before the elderly scholar continued, “It is to my sorrow that I must inform you that your father, Duke Cai Geraint of Hilida was slain during the assassination of King Eric and Queen Vanessa. One of the letters from the prince detailed that the duke attempted to prevent the assassins from their goal and so fell protecting the royal family.”
Brand’s hands curled into fists as he watched the color leach from Celena’s face. Had she not been sitting, he would have feared she would faint. Yet there was only a hint of a catch in her voice when she asked, “And my mother?”
“Duchess Enid was in a state of weakened health due to her wasting illness. Unfortunately, the shock from the news of her husband’s death killed her.” The wizened scholar shook his head as he added in a low murmur, “A shame, really. Since you were not able to claim your inheritance, the estate of Hilida passed into royal protection for five years before one of the claimants razed Hilida Keep and banished the people in an attempt to prevent the estate’s wealth from aiding a rival.”
Celena covered her face with a hand yet said nothing. As the silence stretched, Master Owen leveraged himself out of the chair and bowed once more. “I am sorry for your loss, your grace. May Shaddai bring you comfort.” He nodded to Brand and shuffled out the door.
Brand waited only until the door had swung shut before he strode to Celena’s chair. He placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her shudder. When she lowered her hand and tilted her head back, his heart twisted at the unshed tears. Without another thought, he dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face against his neck, hot tears splashing against his skin, as her body shook with the force of her sobs.
He stroked her hair and murmured in her ear, “It was not your fault.”
“I should have been there for my mother.”
“If you had not been hidden away, they probably would have killed you too.” He knew it was the truth and that she knew this too, but he knew the same pain. It was far easier to listen to the guilt and blame than to the truth that it was beyond anyone’s control. He stroked her hair then pressed his lips to the silver blonde locks before he murmured once more, “It was not your fault, Celena.”
He held her like that, offering what little comfort he could, for what seemed to be hours. But he knew it could not have been more than a half hour’s time when she at last loosened her grip on him and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes were red rimmed and a few lingering teardrops slid down her pale cheeks as she took a slow breath. “I know it is foolish to weep when they have been gone so long but . . .”
Brand touched her hand as she trailed off. “It has not been so long to you. There is no shame in grieving.”
That won him a watery smile before she wiped away the last of her tears. “Perhaps, but I am weary of weeping. And, it shall not help me with these plans.”
He glanced at the scratchings. “You’re making lists?”
A flash of a grateful smile followed by a little nod. “I am. The people of Nereida have seen their city fall into neglect and now we must remind them of hope by bringing back things lost to the war.”
He almost questioned her, but there was a ring of confidence that made him feel certain this was not something the old guard had tasked her with to keep her out from underfoot. Instead, he picked up one of the lists, brows raising as he perused the items. “These are repairs for the walls.”
“The sea wall to begin with, yes. It can be tied to the repairs needed at the harbor.”
“I am impressed.” He touched the corner of the list she had been working on and asked, “What of this?”
“Nereida will not thrive without a proper market, and we will not be able to present a proper place for trade without one either. I am making a list of all the shops and stalls I remember.” A slight frown appeared as she met his gaze. “It seems all of the merchant lords were killed or driven out of Aneirin during this foolish and awful war. Our trade has been crippled to a point beyond that of the dragon war. Aneirin’s wealth has always derived from sea trade as well as the Great Western Road, but all I have heard of since speaking with the different fishermen you found is that the ships from Belfarad and further south either refuse to travel north at all or rarely make the long journey to Talhaearn’s southernmost port and would bypass Aneirin entirely if they could.”
Brand nodded then rocked back on his heels. “What do you intend to do about it?”
“I am going to find new merchant lords. But first, the marketplace and the harbor must be repaired.” She grasped her quill once more, a determined glint in her eyes now. “Once we have a place to house them, the merchants will return.”
“I do believe you are in the right on this matter, your grace,” he murmured, only half teasing.
She offered a little smile in reply before bending her head once more toward her work. Other than the occasional sniffle, she had pushed away her grief in favor of pursuing her people’s greatest needs. Brand lingered by the table a little longer than he should have, simply staring down at her silver blonde hair. She had not acted as though she had felt the kiss he had so foolishly placed there. That was for the best, he reminded himself rather viciously. It was for the best. If Celena was to succeed in her efforts, she did not need any more distractions. Certainly none from him that would not serve to lighten her burden.
* * *
Celena took a small sip of her wine and an unbidden smile curved her lips as her gaze fell on a block of cheese. She would need to find a way to contact the selkies and deliver a block or even wheel of cheese for their queen. Or perhaps she could one day invite Naia to be her guest. It would no doubt be a more relaxed conversation than the one currently taking place. Count Kester’s booming voice rose above the others, once more assuring no one dared to forget his presence. She immediately scolded herself for the unkind thought.
She looked around the table, noting Count Adred’s continued absence. She was beginning to fear something had befallen the elderly nobleman. Count Kester sat on her right while Baron Halbert was positioned on her left much to her frustration as it effectively prevented her from privately conversing with the current harbor master or the three merchant guild members remaining in Nereida. Perhaps when they left the table, she would be able to speak to them directly.
Celena’s gaze fell on the food that Kester had complained was not nearly rich enough for the claimant’s table and once more thought it was too rich by half for a country still in turmoil. Yet, her attempts to decrease the meals to a more reasonable and restrained amount had continually been ignored by Kester and Halbert. An annoyance, but not a battle she was ready to fight.
The doors slammed open and Celena’s head jerked up as Brand along with the rest of the attending guards leapt to face the unknown intruder. She rose to her feet. “Stay your weapons!”
The man glaring contemptuously at the soldiers was unknown to her. His sallow complexion and shaggy hair gave him an unfriendly air even before meeting his eyes. His gaze passed right over her to focus on Count Kester as he squared his shoulders beneath his heavy black cape and announced in nasal tone, “Count Kester, Baron Halbert, leaders of the old guard nobles currently residing in Nereida, I bear the message of the Earl of Vainlyn. As the rightful claimant to the throne, the Earl of Vainlyn warns you that your actions in taking hold of Nereida, the capital city of Aneirin, have endangered the truce he has offered out of his magnanimous concern for the welfare of the kingdom. You have committed a blatant act of hostility in this encroachment on Nereida and without so much as a proper claimant with which to excuse your actions. Instead, your desperation and stubborn refusal to yield to the inevitable has allowed the proclamation of the paltry claim of a woman who dares to imagine she is to turn our fair Aneirin into another Talhaearn.”
A quick glance at the count confirmed he was nearly purple with fury. Fearing what his rashness might bring, Celena spoke up. She kept her voice gentle yet firm as she broke the tense silence. “Sir, you have neither declared your name nor were you invited to this gathering. Instead, you have conducted yourself as a man of base manners. However, since you must have journeyed far to carry the message of your master and no doubt did not so much as take your ease for even a moment based on the mud you have left in your wake, I now invite you to join us in our meal. Afterwards, we will be able to discuss your master’s claims and my own if you are so willing.”
The man’s eyes only grew harder as he sneered, “I will never dine at your table. I have delivered my master’s message and you will be a fool to ignore it.” With that nasal pronouncement, he spun on his heel and stormed away, cape snapping and more mud falling in his wake.
Celena remained standing until the doors shut before she allowed herself to sit once more. The harbor master and the merchants all nodded to her. But, she could feel Count Kester’s stare. He leaned forward, grasping his goblet, as he smoothly pronounced, “That was well said, my dear. It will certainly annoy Vainlyn, the fiend.”
The other men all murmured their approval and Celena inclined her head. “It was not my intent to annoy. I had hoped we might be able to open negotiations with the earl, but the hostility of his messenger leaves me with doubts.”
Count Kester chuckled, however, there was no mirth to the sound. He placed a hand on her arm, pinning her to the curved chair arm, as he offered a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Do not fret over Vainlyn or his ill-mannered scoundrels. In fact, you should allow me and the rest of your council to handle all future challenges. It will be far less distressing to you.”
She bit back a retort, wary of angering him. Instead, she forced her lips into a faint smile. “Of course, my lord. I am grateful for your willingness to continue aiding me.”
When he gave a quick satisfied nod and leaned back in his own chair, she resisted the urge to rub her arm. Instead, she turned her attention to Baron Halbert. “My lord, do you think we should send a messenger to Count Adred? I confess I am beginning to worry at his continued absence from the court and that it might appear he does not truly support us anymore.”
“Well, we never need fear losing Adred’s support, my dear duchess.” The baron glanced over her head, no doubt looking at Kester, before he smiled sympathetically. “However, your concern does you good. I will personally send a messenger to Adred on the morrow.”
She smiled back. “Thank you, Baron. I am much relieved.”
Adred had seemed the most reasonable of the old guard. If he came to Nereida at last, perhaps she would finally have the ally to speak for her when Kester refused to listen. He had appeared to have some sway over the brusque younger man during past interactions. She could only pray he still did. Shaddai willing, the older count would also come soon enough to help her continue her plans for repairing Nereida.
* * *
The bustle in the royal library brought a faint smile to Celena’s lips as she walked between the shelves. The suggestion that the scholars still in Nereida be allowed to better organize the library was the only one that Kester and Halbert had permitted and she was glad for it. Though she longed to run her fingers over the various books and scrolls, browsing them for at least a little while, she resisted the temptation. Count Kester had sent a message with her maid that morning detailing news of Count Adred as well as a need to be present when the allied nobles of the old guard finally met that afternoon, presumably to present their support of her claim to the throne.
In the back of her mind, a little voice still whispered that it would be far better, far easier if another was found. If they found a male claimant who did not have quite the reputation of the Earl of Vainlyn. Then she could stop worrying about how to protect her people because that burden would lie on another’s shoulders. There was still so much to be done before Nereida would even be secure much less prosper and the rest of Aneirin with it.
“Not troubled by Pebble’s decision to steal your shawl, are you?”
An unbidden smile bloomed at the low whisper. She glanced back at Brand and shook her head. “Of course not. Dear Pebble was merely playing. He was no doubt feeling quite frisky since you have been neglecting him.”
Brand narrowed his eyes at that, but she still saw the laughter gleaming in their dark depths. “That malicious creature finally acts out toward you and still you defend him.” When she did not respond, his expression changed to something more serious and he touched her elbow guiding her toward an empty alcove free of any scholars at the moment. “What troubles you?”
She almost protested that naught could be the matter. Yet, when she looked up into his eyes and read the concern written there, only the truth bubbled out in a low whisper. “I am failing my people.”
His brow furrowed yet he kept his voice low even as he stated firmly, “Utter nonsense. Celena, you are doing everything you can.”
“It is not enough.” She gestured helplessly at the workers around them as she added, “This is all I have achieved. There is so much more to be done. I do not know how to proceed when the—”
She cut herself off as a grey-robed priest of Shaddai approached. Forcing a pleasant smile to hide her concerns, she offered the priest a little nod. But, the man neither spoke nor halted in his determined approach. His folded hands parted, and she caught a glimpse of steel before Brand lunged knocking her back into the wall as he did so. The air left her lungs in a rush and her right shoulder stung from striking the stone, but she could not tear her gaze from the incredulous sight of Brand wrestling a priest of Shaddai to the ground while shouting for the rest of the guard.
The priest’s hood fell back, and she locked eyes with his malevolent gaze. He snarled at her, spitting curses, until Brand ordered the other guards to drag him away. She watched the imposter until the moment he vanished from sight. Then Brand filled her vision forcing her to focus on his words. His hand came around her elbow holding her steady and warm against her skin. “Are you all right?”
Celena closed her eyes and took a breath before she forced them open once more as she gave a tiny nod. “Yes. Who is he?”
“One of Vainlyn’s hired blades, no doubt,” he stated grimly.
She glanced around breathing a prayer of thanks when there was no one close enough to hear him. Only then did she dare to speak. “You must not say such things. Vainlyn may not be a suitable claimant for the throne, but the accusation of hiring an assassin is far too serious to be mentioned lightly.”
“I am making no jests. Vainlyn already sent a messenger to intimidate you. Do you really think he would not stoop to sending another message to the old guard? He’s done it before and with devastating success.”
Celena braced a hand against his chest hoping to calm the ire she could see so clearly in his eyes and hear threading its way through his taut words. “Brand, now is not the time or the place for this discussion. Whatever Vainlyn has done in the past, we have no proof he’s behind this attempt.”
“I recognized the attacker.”
She blinked at him. “How?”
“He was hired to find the Sleeping Duchess, but he had a long history with the earl doing whatever he desired.” Brand’s gaze sharpened and even his voice lowered to a harsh whisper, “I will testify it before the council if you desire.”
And, reveal he had been a mercenary . . . Her hand tightened on his tunic bunching the fabric. “No. I do not want you to do anything foolish. If the man is a known mercenary as you say, then no doubt the old guard will have sufficient testimony to that in addition to his actions today.”
“Your grace! Duchess?”
Celena’s cheeks grew warm as she realized how close they were standing, his hand still wrapped around her elbow, and her hand on his chest. Then he was gone, standing back by several paces, as Baron Halbert hurried into view. The older man looked relieved. “Your grace, we have just been alerted to this foul attempt on your life. Count Kester and I must request you retire to your chamber until we are certain there are no other assassins in the palace. Captain Brand, escort her grace to her chamber at once.”
She did not even attempt to protest as Brand and five other guards closed in around her forming a human shield. The walk back to her current chamber seemed to take hours even though it was scarcely twenty minutes from the moment they hurried her past startled looking scholars to Brand flinging open the chamber door and searching the room before permitting her entrance. It was not until Brand ordered the rest of the guard to take up their positions that she realized her hands were trembling. Rubbing her arms, she crossed to the narrow window and peered out. She could see only a corner of the sea wall in addition to a small sliver of the sea beyond. It looked much calmer than she currently felt. She pled silently for Shaddai to grant her peace and clarity.
“I will not let them harm you.”
Her lips curved into a slight smile. “I have every faith in you, Brand.” Her smile faded as she continued, “However, I am beginning to fear I was completely unprepared for this chess game.”
“Celena, I—”
There was sharp knock and then she heard the door open. “Captain Brand, Count Kester requests your presence.”
She could feel his hesitation. Keeping her voice low, she murmured, “You should go. Do not rile Count Kester.”
“Are you certain that is your wish?”
“Yes. Just do not offer up any information that would only further harden Kester against you, please.”
“Of course, your grace.”
Then he was gone, and she was left alone with her thoughts. Doubt’s whispers grew louder. What if Brand had been injured in his scuffle with the assassin? What if the assassin had found his way to her chamber when Anna her lady’s maid had been here? She did not imagine the maid would have been spared had she come across the man first. And, Brand was so determined that the Earl of Vainlyn was responsible for it . . .
However, he clearly had a grievance with the man. Perhaps this clouded his judgment on the matter. And yet . . . And yet she found herself almost hoping the assassin would be tied to the earl if only because finding otherwise would mean that there was another or even others who wanted to harm her. Celena rubbed her fingers together feeling a tingle that took her mind back to the spindle. She shook the thought away. The dragoness had seemed content to curse her rather than outright attack her. The spindle was safely hidden with Brand. Even if Anna’s loyalties lay more with Count Kester since she had come from his household, her own lady’s maid could search her chamber to no avail. Not that it made very much sense that she would. Even though there had been a day when she found her notes for Nereida’s most pressing needs in the wrong order . . .
Celena dismissed the thought with an exasperated sigh. She could no more prove the maid had been snooping through her notes than she could prove the old guard was actively isolating her from anyone not in their hands. Dwelling on the matter or being bitter about it would do her naught but ill, and she would lose sight of what mattered. Doing what was best for her people, even if that meant playing the game to the old guard’s favor for a little while.
She wished her father were there. He had always been able to negotiate the intrigues of court with ease, although he had also been a war hero and a well-respected leader among both nobles and common folk. Still, he would have been able to counsel her and that is what she missed most.
She was not a war hero or any sort of warrior who could win the respect and hearts of the people with prowess of the blade, spear, and bow. She could not make the changes to the market or the harbor or even reach out to the merchants as she knew Nereida needed because she was only a claimant. She could not in truth make the promises necessary to reestablish the merchant lords without the full authority of being queen nor could she fight for the repairs Nereida so desperately needed. If she were honest with herself, she knew the only reason her council had not overturned the decree against seal hunting was because the crowd embraced it. It was an act supportive of her role as claimant. However, it seemed that was the only act she would be able to make until the matter of the throne was settled.
There had to be a way to convince the old guard to support her, but she was not certain how if Count Adred failed to be a true ally. A knock at the door drew her attention and Brand stuck his head in, stating simply, “The council is assembled and awaiting your presence, your grace.”
“Thank you, Brand.” The safe words fell instinctively from her lips, but she would have liked nothing more than to wave him in for a council of their own before she had to appear before Kester and Halbert. Of course, she knew better than to imagine they had such a luxury.
She wanted to question him about what had happened with the prisoner. However, there was a grimness in Brand’s stance that worried her even as it cautioned her to silence. The idea of clasping his hand and urging him to share whatever it was that troubled him bloomed to life before withering beneath the knowledge that such an act was beyond the bounds of friendship and propriety. In many ways, she could no more reach out to Brand than she could to Nereida.
When they arrived at the doors of the council chamber, Brand swung them open and announced her but made no move to follow when she swept past him. It took all of her discipline not to look back at him in silent query. As soon as she surveyed the room, she knew why Brand was staying outside. There was a crowd of noblemen, including Count Adred’s son, conversing in low tones with a gravely serious Baron Halbert.
As the men turned to stare at her, Celena kept her head up and eyes forward as she glided to where Count Kester stood beside a set of empty chairs at the far side of the chamber. He nodded to her. “Your grace, be seated if you would and we will continue our meeting.”
Celena glanced from him to the gathered men and asked in a soft whisper, “I do not recognize many of these men. Who are they?”
“The rest of the old guard,” the count said.
He nodded to the men as those standing joined their fellows already seated in the thirty chairs stacked two rows deep in two half circles on either side of the chairs where Kester and Celena now sat. Baron Halbert quickly claimed the chair on Celena’s left so she was framed in by the two lords. Then, Adred’s son approached and offered a slight bow. “Your grace, it is my regret to inform you that my father, the Count of Adred, passed into Shaddai’s keeping several weeks past. Now he is buried, I am at last able to come here and offer Adred’s continued support against the claims of the Earl of Vainlyn.”
Celena leaned forward in her chair. “I am much grieved to hear of your father’s passing. Though I did not know him long, he was kind to me.”
“Yes, we are more than grateful for the strength of Adred among our numbers,” Count Kester interjected. He waved at the new count and pronounced briskly, “Now the niceties have been observed, take your seat so we might get on with the business at hand.”
Before she could protest this rudeness, Count Adred had taken his seat on Halbert’s immediate left. Then Count Kester continued in the same brisk manner, “My lords, we may have intended today’s gathering to be a confirmation of our loyalty to the House of Armsterid and its claimant. However, events today have given this meeting a far graver purpose. As I informed you before the duchess joined us, the assassin refused to name his master. As such he has been executed to eliminate any and all possibility that he might become a renewed threat. Now, it is clear to me that the Earl of Vainlyn was no doubt responsible for this attempt on our claimant’s life.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the gathered men, however, Celena reeled from the knowledge that a man had been executed. They could not have questioned him long before doing so. She wanted to ask her own questions, but the words never untangled themselves enough to be put to voice. Realizing Count Kester was speaking again, she forced herself to listen even as she kept a mild expression on her face and folded her hands in her lap.
“There can be only one solution to the earl’s blatant attempts to force our claimant out of Nereida. We must strengthen our position by offering the one thing Vainlyn has never been able to despite two marriages. The promise of future heirs should more than solidify our claimant’s position. We merely need the duchess to take a consort.”
She looked up at him, but the count never glanced at her much less allowed a pause to settle long enough for her to speak. Instead, he gestured to the quietly chattering lords and continued, “While it is true most of our sons who are of reasonable age to serve as a match to the duchess have already been wed, there are still unmarried sons among our numbers. A consort from among the old guard would certainly be preferred to any pup who might be a puppet of Vainlyn’s.”
A thin faced man with worn robes rose from his chair. His gaze was sharp as he eyed Celena before turning his attention to Count Kester. “My son, Frederick, is unwed and fit.”
“Aye, as fit as a half-starved cur,” another man shouted. “And, a drunkard who can hardly hold his ale much less a conversation. Yet, you would have him on the throne of Aneirin? I should think not! Not unless you hope for Vainlyn to laugh himself into an early grave upon hearing of such a half-witted match!”
The lord dropped into his seat heavily as more of the assembled men roared their dissent of his son as a candidate. Count Kester raised a hand, and the shouting died to a low rush of whispers. “My lords, please, be civil. We must discuss the matter further.”
Another man stood, this one with a harsh set to his mouth and lowered brows. His voice was surprisingly soft when he spoke, however. “My son, Eric the Red, is a true man. His betrothed died on her way to our lands, and he has been without a suitable woman for over a year. He does not fear Vainlyn or his schemes.”
There was silence for a brief moment. Celena leaned forward slightly, intent on asking a question this time, when the new Count of Adred shook his head. He leaned on the arm of his chair as he countered, “You seem to be forgetting, Lord Mortimore, that I have met your son. I will gladly spare Aneirin in saying that Eric the Red does not fear Vainlyn’s schemes because he is often a party to them. If you were not so blind to your son’s faults, you never would have suggested him as a possible consort.”
“Lies!” snapped Lord Mortimore, his face mottling with the same rage that dragged his heavy brows down toward the bridge of his nose. Had he any hair on his head, Celena would not have been surprised to see it stand on end like an angry dog’s. “Lies! You are slandering my son’s good name, Henry, for the sole reason that I refused to send my daughter to wed your younger son!”
“You’ve no place to speak here, Lord Mortimore,” Count Adred sneered. “Your son is not a suitable consort for our claimant. He is not strong enough.” His lip uncurled slightly as he looked first to Halbert then past Celena to Kester and asked, “Do you not agree, my lords?”
Baron Halbert was the first to nod and then Count Kester did as well before saying, “My lords, perhaps we should be certain as to the desired qualities of a consort before we continue naming possible candidates for appraisal.”
Most of the assembly nodded or muttered their approval. Lord Mortimore, on the other hand, stood frozen for half a heartbeat before he growled a curse under his breath. He did not even pretend to acknowledge the rest of the room as he turned on his heel and stormed out the doors. His fellow noblemen ignored his exit even when the doors slammed in his wake, too busy calling out the different qualities they wanted in a consort. Celena watched him go with a nagging sense of worry. Much had changed in the hundred years since she had last been at court, but the signs of pricked pride never changed. She knew how dangerous a slighted nobleman could be to those he perceived as enemies.
* * *
The doors of the council chamber slammed open allowing a stocky man to storm from the room. Brand raised an eyebrow at the sight of Lord Mortimore. The minor lord had always been prone to a temper and one his old master had marked as easily turning from friend to foe if slighted. At first, Lord Mortimore stalked past him. Then, his steps slowed and his furious breathing calmed as he turned back toward Brand.
Refusing to stand at attention for the man, Brand remained as he had been leaning against the wall in one of the few corners that afforded him a view of the council chamber’s doors while concealing him from anyone approaching. He folded his arms over his chest, maintaining an air of indifference, as Lord Mortimore walked up to him. The man’s stocky breadth made two of him, but he still stood a few inches taller something that seemed to further aggravate the lord as he glared fiercely out from beneath his bushy brows. “You have once more attached yourself to an aspiring house.”
Brand’s mouth twitched into a half smile and he waved a hand as he said, “I am as you see me, my lord.”
For a moment, Lord Mortimore looked as though he should love nothing more than to strike him. Then he narrowed his eyes as he stepped closer forcing himself into uncomfortable proximity. “You know better than most how unprepared that girl is to be a proper claimant. Kester speaks for her, and she is far too inexperienced to pull free of him much less hold the throne without a consort by her side. Preferably, of course, a man who would regard her with fondness in addition to bringing his political experience to the match.” Mortimore paused as though waiting for agreement, but continued when Brand said nothing. “Now, my son Eric the Red is just such a man. Kester refuses to see this. He does not care for the girl’s happiness, you know that as well as I. He only cares about the throne and ensuring power truly lies within his own grasp, the overambitious cur. However, you and I could put a stop to that scheme. Your part would be small indeed, yet the reward would be great. All I need of you is to grant my son access to the girl’s private chamber and an extra amount of silver, say thirty pieces, will be yours if you arrange for them to be caught in a delicate situation.”
Brand bared his teeth and the fool actually thought it a smile. His pleased look vanished when Brand grasped the front of his tunic and shoved him against the wall. He pinned his arm against the lord’s throat and leaned in close as he whispered through clenched teeth, “The only reason you are going to leave here in one piece, my lord Mortimore, is because it would greatly displease her grace if I cut the nobles into pieces of varying sizes. My services are not for sale. If you attempt to carry out this scheme, I can promise you that your son will come to a quick end as an intruder and threat to her grace. If anyone else comes to her grace with the same intent, I will be certain to inform the whole court that the idea must have risen from you because of our conversation today. Trust me when I say enough people, including the duchess, will believe me that you will be fortunate to find yourself banished from the kingdom.” He heard the doors open once more and released his hold on Lord Mortimore, adding softly, “I suggest you leave, my lord.”
Fortunately, the nobleman did not attempt to argue further. Instead he scurried away with surprising speed. Brand watched him go noting that he did not even bother to greet the few lords who were friendly with him. Whatever had happened in the council chamber had apparently been enough to cause him to take offense with all within. As more nobles walked past in groups of two or three, all with their heads bent together and muttering, Brand turned his attention back to the doors. Celena appeared last behind Kester and Halbert who both looked pleased, and Adred’s eldest son who was speaking.
Abandoning his place in the shadows, Brand walked toward Celena. As he passed the three men, he caught a bit of their conversation as Adred’s son mused, “It would have been better if my father had not succeeded in betrothing my youngest brother this winter. His bride is a healthy sort. My son is already wed, and his brother is a little young but perhaps still a possibility.”
Brand clenched his fists as the realization struck that Lord Mortimore was not alone in scheming to place a puppet on the throne. When he met Celena’s gaze and she offered him a sweet smile, it took all of his discipline to keep from striking the men or spiriting her away from Nereida. She was not ready for these intrigues, she was too innocent, too good at heart to see what they were doing. He never should have brought her to the old guard. He should have taken her away in the very beginning.
He would have to warn her. And pray she actually listened.
* * *
It had taken the rest of the day before Brand was finally able to find a private moment to speak to Celena. She had not accompanied him to see Pebbles nor had the old guard left her alone from the time their meeting ended. As it was, he was still more than half expecting someone to intrude on Celena’s private meal that evening. Yet, he could not simply stand by and wait as the nobles who were supposed to be her supporters instead squabbled over who would turn the queen into a pawn.
When he knocked on the door and entered the chamber, he was both surprised and relieved to see that she was sitting alone at the small table. She greeted him with a smile that made her silver eyes glow. “Brand, come in. Have you dined?”
“No, your grace.”
“Then you must dine with me,” she said brightly, rising from her chair. “Baron Halbert had made noise about joining me this eve so I had an extra trencher and goblet brought, but he seems to be obliged elsewhere.” She poured wine into the goblet and handed it to him before waving to the meal. “Please help yourself. I already have what I desired.”
Knowing she would not let him get a word in if he did not do as she wished, he lowered himself into the chair. He set the goblet down. “Your grace . . . Celena, there is something you must know about Lord Mortimore. He attempted to bribe me so that his son would be able to force you into a delicate situation as he called it.”
Her goblet paused halfway to her lips for the briefest of moments before she took a drink. “I see.” She set her goblet down and turned her attention to the fish chowder. “I feared Lord Mortimore’s pride had been pricked deeply enough that he might attempt something rash. However, now that he has been foiled perhaps his embarrassment has been assuaged to the point he is thinking more clearly.”
“You cannot think he will let this go,” he protested.
Celena raised her eyes at that, but her expression remained tranquil and her voice soft as she countered, “Lord Mortimore’s son was the second to be rejected as a consort. I believe time will heal his pride and help him see the council did not reject his son out of deliberate spite.”
He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath before he quietly asked, “Just why do you think the old guard rejected those sons?”
There was a glimmer of something indefinable in those silver eyes before she said simply, “As the council proceeded to discuss the desired elements of a consort, it became clear that the first two proposed candidates were not strong enough to bring Vainlyn to heel if we wish to avoid another season of bloody battles. That is a reasonable enough objection to any arrangement.”
“You go along with this plan? Allowing them to arrange your marriage with not so much as an opinion of your own?” Brand clamped his lips together and breathed out slowly through his nose struggling to contain his anger at the idea. How could she be so trusting?
Celena lowered her gaze back to her chowder. “Of course, I prefer to have a voice in the matter even it means I must refuse a man when we go before the priest. Fortunately, I am of age. They may not sign the betrothal agreement on my behalf. However, I have suspected I might be urged to wed whomever they deem the strongest candidate for the throne since you told me of the old guard and I agreed to see them. I had first hoped that I would be able to go on my way after offering a pledge of support to their claimant, but that was before I became the claimant. Aneirin needs strength to come from whomever is sitting on her throne and it is perfectly reasonable not to mention logical for a married claimant to be preferred. No one in their right minds will desire another succession crisis, especially since such a crisis is what caused this infernal war so many years ago.”
“You truly mean to allow Kester to choose your husband.”
She still did not look at him as she gently explained, “The choices will be put to a vote by the council. Allowing Kester or any of the others to present candidates is not unusual, especially among nobles. It is more than common for male kin to select potential suitors and prune the most unsuitable ones before they are presented to the daughter of the house. As the Duchess of Hilida, I certainly have greater say in the early process than most noblewomen. I may reject them at my discretion.”
“Did Kester promise you that?” Brand shook his head. “How are you so naïve? So trusting?”
“Brand, please.”
“They are ensuring they can control you, Celena,” he hissed. “This business of a consort is not to win the people over or strengthen your position. You were making such strides with the common folk that they fear you are too popular. The best countermeasure is to ensure the man you are closest to will be firmly under their control. That is why they want to choose your consort and that is why they rejected Mortimore’s son. Because he would be his father’s pawn, not theirs.”
“Brand, you are being foolish and seeing things that are not there.”
“You are willingly blinding yourself! Do you not see? They do not want a queen, Celena, they want a pawn.”
She rose from her chair and raised her chin. “You need to leave.”
He stood but did not leave. “Celena.”
Lifting a hand, she shook her head although her voice remained steady. “No, Brand. I will hear no more. You are being unreasonable. I want you to leave, and I do not want you to return until you are able to be civil.”
For the span of a breath, he did not move. He wanted nothing more than to continue arguing until she saw the truth of things. But a voice that sounded rather like his old master whispered that pushing her now would only cause her to turn away from him. He was going more damage than help. He clenched his fists for half a breath before forcing his hands to relax. Offering her a curt bow, he turned and left her chamber feeling as though he had failed.
* * *
Celena gazed out the window at the pink and yellow streaks painted across the sky by dawn’s stretching fingers. She could almost imagine what it looked like over the sea or even the gardens. As it was, her view of the dawn was little different now than it had been in the tower. Yet, there was a part of her that missed the simplicity of the tower. She would have been spinning instead of filling her days with the delicate and treacherous games of court intrigue. Something that had clearly grown more like the overcomplicated games in the court of Belfarad than what she remembered of King Eric’s court.
There was a brief knock and then she heard the door creak open. She turned expecting to see Anna, but instead she was greeted by the sight of a rather chagrined looking Brand holding a tray with her morning meal. She waved him toward the table. “You look different, Anna. Have you changed your hair?”
There was a snort of laughter, and he nearly dropped the tray on the table. She hid her own smile when he turned to her with a serious expression in place that did not even hint at his previous humor. He offered her a deeper bow than usual, fist pressed against his heart. “Your grace, I wish to offer my sincerest apologies for my words last night. I was harsh. I overstepped.”
Crossing to him, she placed a hand on his arm. When he looked her in the eye, she said, “No, you were concerned for me and you were being forthright. I may not have appreciated how you chose to phrase your concerns, but I know it was because you were trying to protect me. In truth, I am the one who should apologize. I should not have thrown you out. It was unfair of me to end the conversation in such a manner.”
A crooked smile appeared offering her a little comfort. “Well, Pebbles would have tried to bite or kick me so you were quite reasonable in that regard.”
She laughed softly. “I am more reasonable than a horse. That is a great comfort to know.”
Now he grinned, looking every inch a rogue with his shaggy hair and wrinkled tunic. “I thought you would be quite pleased, Duchess.”
“I cannot begin to imagine why you have not swept some maid off her feet with such compliments,” she retorted. Her amusement faded slightly as she recalled his words. A sigh escaped her. “Do you think me such a fool, Brand? That I would not recognize the game these men play?”
The grin vanished, and he straightened his shoulders. “Celena, I was only concerned—”
“That I did not realize they mean to turn a queen into a pawn? Yes, you made that perfectly clear last night.” She smiled slightly at him. “However, it seems you do not play chess as often as I have, or you would remember that if a pawn can navigate to the other side of the board it becomes a queen. You see, Brand, I am not so naïve as you fear. Though I had hoped the old guard would be more concerned with the people than their own power, I am not so blind as to miss what Kester does. Nor am I so naïve as to think I can cross him without an ally. The former Count Adred was my only hope for such an ally, but his son is clearly in Kester’s camp. Until and unless I can find an ally who will not be swayed by either Vainlyn or the old guard, I have no choice but to play the role of a pawn. For I sincerely doubt that Kester is the type to allow a living legend to leave his control even if I were to change my mind about being on the throne.”
Brand rubbed the back of his neck before muttering, “You should not be in this positon. I never should have brought you to the old guard and then you would not be here.” Dropping his hand, he gave her a long look. “Drop the claim, Celena.”
“I cannot do that, Brand.” She raised a hand to stop the argument she knew was brewing. “I have my doubts about being queen, but I have no choice other than to press on in this matter. It is the right thing to do for our people. You, yourself, have told me how unsuitable Vainlyn is and after what I have seen, I doubt Kester will permit the old guard to find another candidate who would actually be a good ruler.” She frowned as she recalled the way he had spoken in the meeting as though she were not even present or a small child who could not yet make wise decisions without guidance. “It would go easier, however, if there were even one nobleman left in Aneirin who has not been swayed to the old guard or Vainlyn. Because if he had not bent to their will by now, then he would not be likely to bend to them after coming to Nereida.”
“There is one.”
“What did you say?”
Brand shifted his feet looking rather like a small boy forced to name his partners in mischief. The amusing thought vanished, however, when he spoke again. “There is one noble. He came to power a few years ago, but his entire line has always held themselves apart from the war of succession. With the exception of defending his lands with such ferocity that both sides fear and respect him.”
The thought that there was an ally and with him hope to escape the schemes of her current surrounds was almost enough to bring her to her knees. Celena reached out blindly and gripped the back of a chair as she searched Brand’s face. “You are certain of this? Is he . . . Is he a claimant?”
Surely a man as strong as Brand described would be a claimant if not favored by Kester. Yet Brand shook his head. “No, he is not a claimant. His line is one of the few among the high nobility without ties to the royal house.”
“Who is he? What is his house?”
“I do not know his familiar name, but the man is the Duke of Glenrowan.”
Celena frowned, the name feeling almost familiar. “Glenrowan . . . Glenrowan . . . Ah, I remember! Glenrowan was a new estate granted when a man saved Queen Vanessa and newborn crown prince from mercenaries taking advantage of the chaos from the war. I was a young child when it happened. I remember the duke was a bit of a mystery. Glenrowan was a southern estate, I think.” She tapped her nails against the chair, mind racing. “Can you send a messenger to the duke? Urging him to come to Nereida? Perhaps if we meet face to face, I will be able to convince him of the need for an alliance.” Noticing Brand was frowning, she hesitated. “What is wrong? You do not think the duke will make for a good ally?”
“It is not that, Celena. In truth, my old master the Earl of Ernost always believed the old guard’s chosen candidate would need the support of Glenrown in order to gain the throne without prolonging this war.”
“And yet?” When he did not answer right away, Celena touched his arm. “Tell me, Brand.”
“The Dukes of Glenrowan never leave their lands. They have not since the war of succession started. This Duke is no different.”
Celena allowed her hand to fall to her side as she considered her options. “I see. If the Duke of Glenrowan will not come to Nereida to see me, I will have to go to him.”
“No!”
“And, why not?”
“Glenrowan’s lands march next to the Earl of Vainlyn’s and if he caught you there, he would not hesitate to imprison or execute you. It is too risky.”
She smiled. “I believe in you, Brand.”
“I would thank you for that statement, but I do not think I am going to like why you believe in me,” he stated crossly.
Celena touched his arm again as she smiled up at him ignoring his scowl. “Brand, I have complete faith in your ability to find a way to ferry me to the duke. After all, it will only be the two of us on this trip.”
“It is a bad idea.”
* * *
Celena held her breath as the noise of hooves striking dirt, creaking leather, and men’s low speech wafted to her. She wanted to ask Brand if he thought the patrol would find them, but did not dare to even twitch. Her mare was following Pebble’s lead in staying silent, thank Shaddai, or else she feared their hiding place would be found out. Her feet were numb, and her hands ached from clenching the reins so tightly. She wanted to move but stayed perfectly still, shoulder to shoulder with Brand as he watched through the low hanging tree branches. Shaddai’s blessing alone allowed them to reach the small copse of trees where they could hide, stranded as they were between a low valley and the forest near the mountains that formed a border between Aneirin, Cian Gwenith, and the northeastern corner of Belfarad.
After several long moments, Brand finally moved. The sounds of the patrol were no longer detectable, but Celena still bit back the instinct to stop him from leading Pebbles out of their hideaway. He looked around and then nodded to her. He did not wait for her to lead her horse out before he swung up onto Pebble’s back.
Celena quickly mounted and followed in Brand’s wake as he led the way toward the woods. It seemed Glenrowan lands were nestled closer to the mountains with only a narrow strip touching the Great Western Road. The Earl of Vainlyn, on the other hand, often provided patrols to travelers on the trade road. Something that Brand feared running into, so they had abandoned the road not long after crossing the River Sildade. Of course, they had hidden from over ten and five patrols since abandoning the road and six of those had been before they even crossed into Vainlyn’s estate. It seemed most of the southeastern corner of Aneirin rested in Vainlyn’s control save for the duchy of Glenrowan. She hoped.
Glancing over her shoulder, she did not see any hints that the patrol had doubled back or had left someone behind to watch for them. She quickly swung back around and focused on following Brand as he kept Pebbles at a fast trot. There was no reason for the Earl of Vainlyn to suspect his rival claimant would dare venture from Nereida, much less cross his lands to seek out his reclusive neighbor. If anything, she should probably be more concerned about what the old guard would do when she returned to Nereida. Although if she could persuade the duke to support her claim, she had hopes it would go far in curtailing Kester’s heavy handed ways.
Praying they would go undetected by the earl’s patrols, it was almost enough to knock her from her saddle when Brand finally dropped back to her and said, “We’ve crossed into Glenrowan’s lands.”
“Thank Shaddai!”
He grimaced. “That remains to be seen. The duke does not have a reputation for being friendly to trespassers.”
“You do not mean to approach the keep?”
“I most certainly do not.” He pointed to a ring of trees and added, “We can wait there.”
She did not say anything as she allowed her horse to follow in Pebbles’ wake once more. Only after they dismounted, did she ask in a low tone, “What pray tell are we waiting for, Brand?”
“To be found.” Brand pulled his dark brown cloak around himself and sat on a mossy boulder. “You should take your ease. This may take a while.”
An hour passed then two before the shadows began to stretch out and a cool wind blew off the mountains. Celena wrapped her own blue-grey cloak more tightly around herself and tried not to shiver. She had heard Brand yawn a few times and the sound alone was enough to make her feel the journey more keenly. Four, almost five, days in the saddle since they had left Nereida in the pre-dawn gloom and every bone in her body ached for rest. She leaned against Brand’s shoulder, struggling to keep her eyes open. Then Pebbles snorted and whickered. She felt Brand stiffen and slowly eased back from him. A quick glance proved his attention was fixed on something beyond the hobbled horses.
She opened her mouth to ask him what he saw and shut it again as warriors spilled from the trees to form a circle around them. Celena got to her feet while Brand rose more slowly keeping his hands out from his sides. The grim faced warriors parted to allow a cloaked and hooded man to approach. There was an air of authority and power about the way this man carried himself, and she could feel his gaze on her as he stopped. His voice was low and deep as he spoke. “Who are you? Why have you trespassed on these lands?”
Reaching up, she dropped her hood as she stepped forward. “Please, we do not come here with foul intent. My companion and I have travelled here so I may meet with the Duke of Glenrowan.”
The man did not return the favor of dropping his hood, but she thought he relaxed his stance. Of course, that could have been more wishful hoping than anything else. “To meet with the Duke of Glenrowan, you say? Why would you want to do that? Have you not heard the stories?”
“No,” she stated earnestly. “Nor do I care for whatever those tales might be. Please, sir, I must meet with the duke to ask for his help. Will you not take us to him?”
The hooded man raised a gloved hand and gestured to someone behind them. “Bring their horses, Abasi.”
Celena stepped to the side as a warrior brushed by her and barely kept from showing any emotion at the sight of his dark skin. A man of Kush was not a common sight in the Five Kingdoms . . . or at least they had not been during her time. Not in the northern three kingdoms at least. Belfarad with its pass to Kush and the southwestern corner of Cian Gwenith with its close trade to Belfarad and cities certainly had more than a few Kushites among their people. Kushites were rare in Aneirin, however, and it made her wonder how the man had come to be among Glenrowan’s people, what his story was that it led him here.
She forced herself to focus once more on her surroundings and felt watched. Looking around, she found the cloaked and hooded leader was staring in her direction. She bit back more questions driven by her curiosity about the man. Instead, she nodded to Brand.
“Are you going to escort us to Glenrowan?” he asked. “Or just steal her horse and my malicious hearted nag?”
“Brand,” she scolded. “Pebbles is neither malicious at heart nor a nag. In fact, he seems to have better manners than you at the moment,” she added with a gesture at where Pebbles was allowing the Kushite to rub his nose. Exasperation rising, she turned back to the leader and offered a slight smile. “I fear I must apologize for him. He likes to pretend he has no manners at the most inconvenient moments. Where is it we are going?”
“Camp,” came the simple reply before the man turned and left. He melted into the deepening shadows, black cloak swirling in his wake.
Celena shook her head at Brand and hurried after the man. She prayed he would be willing to listen to her plea to be taken before the duke once they were in camp. She glanced first at Brand, then at Pebbles, and added another prayer that both of them would behave themselves for the duration of their stay.
They walked for the better part of an hour, and the sky grew dark before they reached a camp. There were more men waiting among the tents and horses, most of them polishing armor or sharpening weapons. They stilled as their party approached, but no one called out or even nodded. The silence was so unnatural that she could only assume it had been drilled into the men during training. The weight of eyes on her sent shivers down her spine as the stranger led them to the center of the camp and a dark-colored tent that lacked any sort of decoration or sigil on it. Brand followed her and the stranger into the tent, something she was more than grateful for when the stranger lit a hanging lantern.
In the close confines of the tent, she was struck by the stranger’s height. He had to be at least four inches taller than Brand. As the stranger lit another lantern, he broke the heavy silence. “Why do you want my help, woman? Or is this the newest ploy Vainlyn has decided to try against me?”
Celena stared at him until he finally turned around. Heat suffused her cheeks as she stuttered, “I am no friend to Vainlyn. You are the Duke of Glenrowan?”
He offered a sardonic bow.
Squaring her shoulders, Celena lifted her chin slightly. “I’ve come seeking you, your grace, because Aneirin needs you and your help.”
The duke’s shoulders moved in a barely perceptible shrug. “I cannot help you. The only part of Aneirin that matters to me lies within the bounds of my estate.”
“What of Vainlyn’s men? They have spread across most of Aneirin’s southern estates. They will only grow in number should Vainlyn gain the throne.” She paused before stating, “I do not think you would like that any more than I would. There is a way to prevent him from gaining such power if we work together.”
The duke reached up and dropped his hood. Celena’s eyes widened and she fought to retain her composure as she took in the close cropped curly black hair and dark skin where it was not obscured by the black mask covering his face from his forehead to his upper lip. The duke was a Kushite or at least of Kushite descent. She knew the duke of her time had not been . . . that would have been discussed at length amongst the courtiers even during the war. He seemed to be waiting for something, a response of some sort, but when she said nothing, he demanded, “Who are you, woman, that you think to offer something to me? By what authority do you speak?”
Celena met his gaze steadily as she replied, “I am Celena, daughter of Cai and Enid Geraint, Duchess of Hilida. I am first cousin to King Eric son of Lear and descendent of the House of Armsterid through my father. I am the claimant to the throne of Aneirin on behalf of the people.”
“On behalf of the old guard nobles, you mean.”
She shook her head. “No. While it is true the old guard first started this idea of my being queen, I am pursuing it for my people, our people. The kingdom will not survive further bloodshed over the throne. If you care about your people as much as I believe you do and as much as I care about all of Aneirin, you must see that the only way to protect them is by ending this war. The best and swiftest way of doing that is with a show of force. Brand is my friend and captain of my guard. He has told me that you are respected and feared by both the old guard and Vainlyn to such an extent that you alone have remained neutral during this war of succession.” Celena took a breath then pressed forward, saying, “I have come here today to ask you to stand behind me. Not the old guard or Vainlyn, only me. We can negotiate terms for your support if you wish but I am certain that if you will support my claim, then we will be able to finally end this war before more innocent lives are lost after Vainlyn’s truce is lifted. After I am crowned, I promise your help will not go unrewarded.”
The duke stared at her for a long moment. “You speak convincingly, Duchess of Hilida, for a woman whose estate fell to the wilds years ago. I could almost believe you meant those words. However, the promises from a ghostly heiress whose claim to the throne is tenuous at best are not enough for me to endanger my own people. Claimant or not, you have no power to offer me anything for the risk to my people and my lands.”
“My lord duke, if you would only have a little hope, a little faith, surely you will see that together we can stop this war.”
He raised a gloved hand. “No, Duchess, we cannot. A little faith is simply not enough, not when I know the old guard will seek to control you. No doubt that is the only reason they have conspired to make you the first ruling queen of Aneirin.” He studied her for another long moment before adding, “I will promise you that Glenrowan shall never support that bloodied earl in his quest for the throne. However, I would be a poor duke indeed if I endangered my people to support your cause. I am sorry. The risk is too great.”
Everything in her cried out that she should argue more, find better arguments, not to stop until he saw she was right. But she bit back the words. He was doing what he thought was right and she could ask for no more than his pledge that he would not support Vainlyn. It was more than anyone had gained from the Dukes of Glenrowan before now, according to Brand.
Celena took a steadying breath and bowed her head. “I understand why this is your answer. I pray Shaddai will allow us to meet again when this war is over. Until then, may He cover you and yours beneath His shelter.”
“You and your man may spend the night in our camp, then we will escort you to the border. Farewell, Duchess.”
She curtseyed in response and followed the duke out of his tent. A sense of failure settled over her shoulders, but she tried to ignore it.
* * *
Brand brushed Pebbles’ coat once more before he glanced at where Celena was silently grooming her own horse. She had been far too quiet since the duke refused to support her bid for the throne. Pebbles nipped his sleeve and he pushed the horse’s muzzle away, grumbling, “Stop trying to eat me just because you’re impatient for your oats.”
Though she glanced in their direction, she did not laugh or even smile at the menace of a horse’s actions. Brand gave Pebbles his oats and then took out the pack of foodstuff the duke had given them. He sat on a fallen log next to Celena and handed her some cheese, bread, and a little dried jerky. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he cleared his throat before murmuring, “We will reach Nereida tomorrow if we push ourselves today. I should have congratulated you earlier.”
A faint almost bitter smile twitched her lips. “On my failure?”
“On your success in gaining an audience with the Duke of Glenrowan. No other claimant or their representative has ever been able to do so.” He hesitated then touched her shoulder as he added, “You did well, Celena. You made the best argument for an alliance that you could.”
She covered her face with her hand and then dropped it with a sigh. “Except for the fact that he was right. I was in no position to offer him anything. I probably should not have even gone to see him. I am not a queen or heiress apparent. I am . . . I am a ghost, a legend with no power.” A soft laugh escaped, more ironic than sweet, as she brushed her hair back and gave him a sharp look. “I took the risk and failed. My pawn is captured, and I fear it was my last.”
He wrapped his fingers more securely around her shoulder, trying to offer comfort or strength, as he stated firmly, “You cannot mean to fold to Kester and his schemes.”
She shook her head, her gaze falling to the ground. “I do not wish to fold. However, I must do what is best for our people and the only thing that seems certain in that regard is keeping Vainlyn from taking the throne. I must remain as claimant but since I cannot find an ally strong enough to help me resist both Kester and Vainlyn, I shall have to keep Kester close and do my best to appease him. And pray that Shaddai will bless my efforts because I still wonder at times if my being queen is truly the best thing for Aneirin.”
“Yes.” The word slipped out unbidden, causing her to look up sharply. Brand did not flinch away. He stared into the silver eyes filled with a mix of frustration and despair. His hand slipped from her shoulder to cup her chin ensuring she could not look away again. His voice hoarsened slightly as the words escaped. “Yes, you are the best choice for Aneirin’s new ruler and it is not because of your bloodlines. It is because of your heart. You care for the people, and you cling to hope when so many have given up in despair. Your heart is on display so often when you are among the people that it calls them to have hope as well, to still dream Aneirin can recover from this long war.” Silver eyes grew wide and seemed to draw him in as he added, “And, I believe in you, Celena.”
He bent his head and kissed her. Only when he felt her hand against his chest did he realize what he was doing, what he had done. He broke the kiss and leapt to his feet. He could feel his cheeks burning as he cleared his throat roughly, unable to even look at her. “I am . . . sorry, your grace. I should not have done that.” Striding back to Pebbles, he added, “We should get moving as soon as you finish your meal unless you think you can eat in the saddle.”
There was a long silence before breathless words reached him, “Yes, of course I can. We should . . . We should do that.”
Fool. A thousand times a fool. Why had he not stopped himself? Why had he let the kiss happen? Who was he to kiss a duchess? No . . . No, who was he to kiss the woman who would be his queen?
* * *
The feel of his lips still lingered against hers like a phantom, or a dream, that refused to leave her mind. No matter that it had been three days and they had been Nereida for two. Celena dropped her brush into her lap as she stared at her reflection. She needed to speak to Brand, to ask him about the kiss. The man had been infuriatingly skilled at avoiding any and all private encounters with her from the moment they returned to Nereida.
Even the annoyed scolding by Baron Halbert when he realized she had not been in her chamber the last fortnight had not been enough to distract her from the memory of Brand’s kiss. Count Kester and Count Adred had not deigned to see her since her return, however, meaning she had not been required to give an account of her reasons for leaving. Perhaps she would be able to convince Brand to speak to her when she went down to the gardens. Or rather what had been the gardens. Baron Halbert had been so impatient for her to take herself off to her chamber again that he readily agreed with the suggestion that the gardens needed to be reclaimed.
If he had been the one who led the old guard, she might have eventually succeeded in winning him to her view of things. Celena frowned as she put the brush down and rose from her dressing table. The gardens were more an exercise in testing how far the old guard was truly willing to allow their pawn to move than anything enjoyable. Something she regretted but could not escape the necessity. She had little choice but to play the role of a compliant pawn while working on a new strategy for protecting her people from Kester’s ambitions.
There was a knock at the door and her heart leapt even as her stomach twisted. Yet, it was not Brand who entered at her call. Only Anna. The maid curtseyed to her. “Your grace, Count Kester has requested you prepare to receive a visitor in the council chamber.”
“A visitor? Do you know who it is?”
“Sir George, your grace.”
Celena frowned. “Sir George? What is his house?”
The maid’s pale cheeks flushed, and she giggled. A sound Celena had not heard her make since their first meeting. Anna’s brown eyes warmed considerably as she gave another giggle. “Oh, Sir George is not from Aneirin. He is the nephew of King Stephan of Cian Gwenith and so handsome. Some of the girls said they heard stories that he has defeated all manner of beasts including drakes.”
What would bring a foreign knight to Aneirin?
* * *
The waves rolled onto the sand then retreated leaving shells in their wake. Brand stomped across the wet sand hardly noticing when shells crunched beneath his boots. It had been three days since he was fool enough to kiss Celena, and he still could not so much as look at her without thinking about the blasted kiss. He stopped still and turned toward the sea’s deceptively tranquil surface. In that moment, he would have been more than glad for a sea serpent to appear. That at least would have been more than enough to drive his thoughts away from the memory of a kiss that never should have happened.
He raked his hand through his hair and blew out a heavy breath. By Shaddai, what had he been thinking? It was not even possible . . . What he could have wanted had Celena been a commoner or he a man of appropriate birth. His words from so long ago whispered through his thoughts. What sort of nobleman would name his son Brand? No nobleman would, but an honest and loyal soldier would certainly give his son such a name.
Why had he stayed? For the first time Brand regretted the day his desperation drove him to join the mercenaries who were flocking to Vainlyn’s estate because of a quest. He should have made his way from Aneirin then instead of agreeing to search out a legend. A legend whose silver eyes now haunted his thoughts during the day and his dreams every night.
He ran a hand over his face, a low groan escaping him. What had he been thinking? Why had he accepted the task of escorting Celena anywhere, much less to the heart of the war of succession, and then to be her captain of the guard? If he had been sensible, he would have merely taken her away with him to escape the madness of war. If he had, perhaps she would have been able to feel for him what he now desired . . .
Brand shook his head. Fool. He should not even desire it. She was different from any noblewoman he had crossed paths with before, different from most of the noblemen as well, with her caring nature. She did not have the airs of the court, not in the way other ladies would stare at him and the others of common birth as though they were a puddle of mud threatening to stain their fine dresses. She drew him . . . and that alone should have made him run as fast as he could in the other direction. No matter how he might try to trick himself into believing she could have cared for him if they had left Aneirin together, there was one unforgettable truth. They had not left Aneirin together, and they never would. Not unless the worst disaster occurred, and Vainlyn somehow rallied new supporters to bolster his claim to the point the old guard was forced into retreat. And even then, Celena would never be free to marry below her station. She was a duchess who was to be Aneirin’s next ruler and first queen. As much as it galled him to admit, he knew he was the least appropriate match for her and it would be wrong of him to want . . . to ask . . .
A sharp stinging blow to his side ripped him from his thoughts. He slammed his elbow back, connecting with something solid, staggered forward into the water, and then spun around to face the threat. Four men on the beach, the closest bent at the waist with blood coating his dagger. A quick touch to his side stained his fingers red. Brand drew his sword ignoring the warning pull on his right side. The cut was bleeding, but shallow enough it should not hamper his movements.
The nearest of his attackers looked up, and Brand’s eyes narrowed at the sight of a familiar face. “James, do you want a mercenary’s branding? Baron Halbert is in the palace you passed to get down here. What happened to your caravan duties?”
The scrawny mercenary sneered. “Dirk and Wulf said I was not welcome.” He spat on the ground. “So, I went to a more generous employer and told him all about how you said you intended to collect the rest of the reward as though you had found something worth the payment.” James jerked his chin toward the palace, then smirked. “Seems you found a pretender for the old guard.”
“Only pretender is Vainlyn,” Brand ground out as he fended off an attack by one of the other men.
“Vainlyn said he always repays in kind. And, there is only one reward for betrayal,” James shouted.
He blocked the dagger strike and dealt a blow of his own to James’ ribs. Then the other three men swarmed him. Someone kicked the back of his knee and his right leg buckled. He snatched a dagger from one of his attackers and blocked a second strike to his torso before cutting a long furrow down one of the men’s arms. That one cursed and fell away for a brief moment, allowing Brand to press his own attack. Fists and blades alike came at him and a few connected despite his best efforts. A fist to the temple knocked him back, and he shook his head trying to rid himself of the ringing in his ears. He thought he heard singing from somewhere, but it must have been his imagination. Two of the men grabbed his arms while the third wrapped his arms around his neck, choking him, and pulling his head back by the hair. A strangled shout escaped him, but there was no one around to hear or come to his aid.
Brand met James’ gleeful gaze as he approached and ignored the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth. “You are making a mistake in taking Vainlyn’s silver. You should have followed Dirk and Wulf’s example and become a caravan guard. Longer life that way. This? This will not end with you a rich man. Vainlyn will send you against the wrong enemy, like his neighbor, and no amount of silver will keep you safe.”
One of the men hanging onto his arms hit him on his wound and he bent forward despite the drag on his neck and arms. The man with his arm around Brand’s neck growled. “Hurry up and kill him! Before the guards at the palace notice. Go on! Kill him!”
The three men yanked him upright once more, tightening their grips on him as they did. James raised his bloodied dagger in a mocking salute and then darted forward slipping the blade into the same wound on his side as before, but now deeper and viciously lengthening it. The ringing in his ears grew louder as the pressure on his neck tightened cutting off his air and causing black specks to fill his vision. Celena . . .
His vision went black as pain flared from his side and a warm wetness spread from the wound. Then, water crashed over them knocking all five of them off their feet. For a moment the three men still clung to Brand, then he felt them release his arms and the pressure on his neck vanished. A dull pain radiated from his back as someone kicked him. For a moment, he tumbled through the water, unable to see or swim. Celena . . .
The thought of Celena jolted through him and he felt his boots brush against the sandy bottom. He shoved against the sand and broke through the water feeling the cool air against his wet skin despite the blackness still filling his vision. He sucked in great gasping breaths, nearly choking as a wave rolled over his head. He went under and lost all sense of his surroundings again.
When he opened his eyes, he was facedown on the beach. Lurching to his feet, he stood only to drop to his knees again as his side protested and his vision swam. Brand pressed a hand against the wound as he searched for any sign of James or his three cohorts.
“They’re gone.”
Wincing, he looked up as a shadow fell across him. The man towering over him looked vaguely familiar but was certainly not a man of Aneirin. Clad in loose trousers, he might have passed for a sailor if not for the triangle shaped markings adorning his left arm from wrist to shoulder and ending at his collarbone. Thick dark hair and dusky skin further proved the stranger was not native to Aneirin. He did not carry any weapons, with only a taimana inlaid ivory torc around his neck. Brand frowned then pointed at the man. “You were at the market.”
“What used to be a market,” the man stated. He studied Brand for a moment. “Can you make it back to the palace?”
Brand forced himself to stand once more. His side pulled, and he touched it with a grimace. “Yes,” he ground out. “Who are you?”
“Malik.” The man looked him over rather skeptically. “Are you certain you can make it? I did not rescue you just so you could die on the beach.”
“Yes, I . . .” Brand trailed off, blinking. “Wait. Why did you do it then?”
Malik raised an eyebrow. “You are Brand, son of Bard, yes?”
Brand grimaced, but managed not to groan as he answered with a curt nod.
“You saved my daughter and that placed me in your debt.” Malik nodded to him. “The debt is now repaid.”
A laugh tried to escape but quickly turned into a groan. “You’re a selkie.” Brand forced himself to start walking toward the palace even as he muttered, “Celena will be thrilled.”
More pain lanced through his side with every step he took, and another groan escaped him. “If I live long enough to tell her.”
He thought he heard a bark of laughter but when he glanced back, the beach was empty. Grimacing, Brand forced his attention back to the more pressing concern of not collapsing before he could bind his wound. Only after he did not look as though he had been caught in a skirmish would he seek Celena out . . . and only to inform her that her theory was correct about the selkies remaining near Aneirin’s shores.
* * *
Where was Brand? Celena could not believe he had vanished. As unexpected as the kiss had been, surely, he had not decided to run away because of it? She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it bloomed into being. Brand was never one to run away, and he would not avoid his duties either. His men had already confirmed that he had gone down to the beach earlier, and he had not been seen going to the stables to Pebbles. Celena lengthened her stride as much as she dared as she continued down the corridor leading to Brand’s rooms, which were only a few halls down from her own. Something Baron Halbert had promised would be remedied as soon as the royal wing was deemed suitable for her. At the moment, however, she gladly thanked Shaddai that their rooms were close enough she had time to check on him.
She tapped on the door. There was no response, then she heard something fall. Concern made her forget propriety and she shoved the door open, hurrying forward. “Brand? Are you all right? I heard— Oh!”
She stifled a louder cry at the sight of the wound currently oozing blood down his right side. Eyes widening, she glanced from the wound to Brand’s face. His skin was nearly ashen, and his jaws were clenched so tightly she could see the tension through his beard. A stoppered bottle lay on the rug by his foot. No doubt what she had heard fall.
Celena hurried forward, snatching up the bottle as she did so, and then reached to touch Brand’s shoulder. His hair was wet as were his trousers and boots. “What happened to you?”
He grimaced, and his voice sounded strained despite his attempt to offer a half smile. “A disagreement on the beach. Nothing . . . Nothing to worry about, your grace.”
“Where is the healer?”
“Don’t need one,” he grunted before gasping when she pressed a cloth against his side.
“I disagree,” she countered. Pulling the cloth back, she pursed her lips as she surveyed the damage. “You need stitches.”
“No, I’m perfectly all right.”
Celena ignored him as she hurried back to the door and waved to one of the guards. “Fetch a healer for Captain Brand. Tell him stitches will be required.”
When the guard sprinted off, she turned back to Brand. He was trying to pull the stopper out of the bottle with one hand. She took it from him and pulled the stopper. She sniffed the bottle. “What is this?”
“Salve,” he grunted. “Good for cuts.”
“That is not a cut, Brand. It’s a wound from a sword.”
“Dagger.”
“Not important,” she countered. Replacing the stopper, she moved the bottle to the small table holding a bowl and pitcher. A quick check assured her there was water in the pitcher, which she poured into the bowl before carrying it over to where Brand sat on a chest. She dipped a second cloth into the lukewarm water. “Hold still.”
She ran the cloth over the cuts to his upper arms, chest, and left side, gently cleaning away drying blood. “What happened?”
“Just a minor disagreement.”
She pressed, but he never changed his answer. Once she finished cleaning the minor cuts, she turned her attention to the wound on his right side. “Lift the cloth. Carefully.” When he obeyed, she knelt by the chest to clean the blood away. She glanced up to find him staring at her with a strange expression. “Brand? Will you not tell me what happened?”
He shook his head. “Not important.”
“I disagree,” she murmured. She set the damp cloth aside and took the dry one, folding it over before pressing it once more against his side and eliciting another groan.
Before she could press him further, one of the healers bustled into the room. The man frowned at Brand, then bowed to her. “You were correct about the stitches, your grace. I shall tend to the captain now.”
Sensing the dismissal, Celena offered a nod as she rose to her feet. She hesitated beside Brand for a moment before she reached out once more. This time she touched his cheek prompting him to look at her. She offered him a little smile. “Behave and listen to the healer. I must greet Sir George, but we will speak on this later.”
Brand did not respond, and she thought it might have been because of his pain. She nodded to the healer once more before she slipped out of Brand’s room. A glance down at her soiled skirts and she was forced to hurry back to her own chamber. Anna did not succeed in hiding her dismay, but the maid said nothing as she helped Celena change into a fresh gown of pale lilac. The one benefit in changing was that the lilac gown was one of her own and cut in a more comfortable fashion than the green gown provided by Countess Kester.
Knowing she was late, Celena forced herself to hurry instead of stopping to check on Brand again. Not that the healer would have had time to get very far. Still her concern for Brand remained at the forefront of her thoughts even when she reached the council chamber. Count Kester scowled at her but said nothing as a party of men entered the room. They were all in armor beneath tabards of black with a trio of silver rose buds in the center. At their head was a man who was tall, blond-haired, and as brawny as a blacksmith. Yet, he had an open expression with a pleasant smile blossoming into being as he met Celena’s eyes. The man and his comrades all offered deep bows before straightening once more.
Count Kester stepped forward spreading his arms wide. “Welcome, Sir George of Cian Gwenith, to Nereida. We are pleased you have come to Aneirin.”
The knight’s eyes darted from Count Kester to Celena and stayed on her as he said pleasantly, “We thank you for the warm welcome. When we heard the Sleeping Duchess had been found, we were already in your fair country and so came to pay our respects. I understand you are to be Aneirin’s new queen, your grace.”
“Shaddai willing, Sir George,” she stated.
“Yes, Shaddai willing,” Count Kester interrupted. “We, the old guard, are most pleased with our claimant. She is so lovely the people cannot help but desire her as their queen. Of course, if your uncle is in favor of allying with the duchess, it would only go to strengthen the ties between our two kingdoms. A friendship that has been ignored for far too long, I fear.”
“Friendship between kingdoms is always desirable,” Sir George said with a cheerful grin. He nodded once more to Celena. “Your grace, I should be delighted to speak with you further at a later time. If you agree.”
Before she could even think of a response, Count Kester once more interjected. “The duchess will hold a dinner tonight. It will provide the perfect time for you to get to know each other a little better. Do you not agree, Sir George?”
Sir George looked at her with the hint of a question in his blue eyes. Celena offered him a slight smile along with a little nod. That seemed enough of a reassurance for the knight as he turned back to Count Kester with a grin firmly in place. “I look forward to dinner and the conversation.”
* * *
“Duchess Celena, you look lovely this evening.”
Celena smiled at Sir George. “You flatter me, sir.”
He grinned. “I am compelled only to speak the truth when in the presence of a beautiful lady such as yourself.”
A soft laugh escaped her. The knight from Cian Gwenith was far more like the noble sons she had known. He seemed genuine enough in his interest, but he did not act besotted, something for which she was extremely grateful. She glanced around at the nobles who had gathered at the dinner, which in truth was far more of a feast and perilously close to a ball. Then her eye caught on a man who had just entered the room. He was clad in a bright red tunic and leggings, which were at odds with his shaggy brown hair. He kept tugging at the neck and the sleeves.
Biting back another laugh, Celena touched Sir George’s elbow with an apologetic smile. “Pray forgive me, but I see a friend in dire need of rescue. I shall return in but a moment.”
More laughter threatened as she realized the red tunic and leggings were matched by equally red shoes whose pointed toes were nearly long enough to curl. Brand was too busy tugging on the neck of his tunic, with such force she feared he would rip it, to notice her approach. She could not quite hide her horrified amusement at the sight. “Brand?”
The man actually jumped, and then his cheeks almost matched his clothing in color. “Celena.”
She looked him over once more and shook her head. “Go change at once.”
He grimaced. “Kester and Adred said you wanted me to wear something more appropriate for when I am at these balls.”
“It is not a ball,” she protested instinctively. “And, why in all the kingdoms would I have you wear red? That is most certainly not my color.” She glanced at where Kester was holding court with Adred and several others among the old guard and then added, “You should remember you are my captain of the guard, not theirs.” She held Brand’s gaze as she continued in an undertone, “I will never require you to hide that you are a soldier. Go change into something more suitable.”
Brand grinned and then he offered her a slight bow. “At once, your grace.”
She watched him go for a moment longer, pleased when he did not reach for his side. She still was not certain the healer would have approved of him appearing tonight. But as long as he was taking care of his injury, she would not protest. It would do no good given how stubborn Brand liked to be about such things.
“Your friend did not look very comfortable, your grace.”
She turned to find Sir George smiling down at her. She laughed softly. “No, I fear he was not, which was why I had to rescue him. Give him permission to appear here as a soldier.”
“Did you pick those clothes for him?”
She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Certainly not.”
He chuckled. “I had hoped that would be your answer.”
When he offered his arm, she took it and allowed him to escort her back toward the table. “Sir George, tell me what you think of Nereida.”
He opened his mouth then closed it, looking more than a little chagrined.
Celena nodded. “She does not look as she once did, it is true. Perhaps you think poorly of us now.”
“No, the sea is beautiful. This is the first time I’ve seen it.”
A smile appeared at his enthusiasm. “It is a pity we have no ships at our leisure, for I think you would have enjoyed sailing.” Her smile grew as she imagined Brand’s reaction to the idea of a sailing trip down Aneirin’s coast. He did not have much love for ships. “Perhaps another time, though. After things have been settled and Aneirin is truly at peace once more, that is when I can show you the sea.”
Sir George’s grin widened, and he nodded. “I think that would be quite the experience, your grace. Perhaps I can return the favor by showing you the sights of your own fair country from the back of a hippogriff. I assure you there is no greater feeling than flying through the clouds and racing the winds atop a hippogriff.”
That caught her curiosity and she could not help asking, “Did you come to Nereida by hippogriff? I had not heard of anything so spectacular and I feel quite certain I would have, but perhaps I was wrong.”
The knight flushed. “No, your grace, you were not mistaken in the least. Forgive my careless words. My party came by horseback and up the Great Western Road after visiting Belfarad’s king.” He graced her with a rueful smile as he added, “I wish I had come by hippogriff, though. Perhaps then I would have been the man so privileged as to wake you from your cursed sleep. In any case, it certainly would have been far faster, especially after my uncle asked me to carry his greetings to the King of Belfarad. Belfarad’s court may be in the kingmaker’s hands still, but your court carries the promise of great things.”
“The kingmaker?” she echoed, ignoring the hint that Sir George would have desired to be her savior knight.
He gave a nod, glanced at Count Kester, and lowered his voice. “That’s what Earl Robert Neville of Gildas is called. He helped put the king on the throne after leading a rebellion against the king’s older half-brother.”
Celena tilted her head toward him as she asked softly, “Tell me, Sir George, who rules Belfarad? The king or his maker?”
“That would depend on how you defined ruling, your grace. The king of Belfarad relies heavily on Gildas for advice in nearly all he does.” Sir George glanced at Kester once more before adding, “Some say Gildas intends to strengthen his hold by crowning his daughter.”
There was a commotion near the doors and Celena stepped back from Sir George as Kester grabbed her arm and ushered her away from the bemused knight. She caught a glimpse of Brand in his regular clothing before Kester hissed, “Vainlyn is here.”
* * *
The finery of the nobles’ court outfits looked strangely out of place when compared to their wearers’ sober and even frightened expressions. Celena resisted the urge to smooth her pale lilac skirts. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and kept a serene expression affixed as the doors to the main audience chamber were opened and a man strode into the room.
She almost gasped when the man drew close enough for her to make out his features. He looked like Brand. Or he would have if Brand had been nearly a decade older. His dark brown hair was cropped at the neck and there were wings of grey at his temples, but his clean shaven face was neither terribly plain nor particularly handsome. There was a hardness to his brown eyes that Brand’s never had and a determined set to his mouth. He was perhaps Brand’s height if not a little taller, but he was built more squarely than her captain of the guard, his broad shoulders and barrel chest filling the sensible wool tunic of a deep purple he wore. Not the colors of the House of Armsterid but she would not have been surprised to learn the house whose claim he and his kin depended on had included that color, especially since none of the other assembled nobles or their ladies had worn it. She looked again at the earl’s face. Baron Halbert had told her Vainlyn was not quite forty years of age, but there was a heaviness around him that made her wonder how rapidly waging a civil war had aged the man.
Hard brown eyes surveyed the room before settling on her. His upper lip curled but for a moment before he spoke in a deceptively pleasant tone. “My lords, it has been a very long time since we have met as such and not upon a field of battle.” He made a show of looking around the bare audience chamber and mused, “It seems Nereida has not been very generous in her welcome. Perhaps because you are all in violation of the agreement between all factions of this war of succession. No party may enter fair Nereida and establish a camp without the presence of their claimant.”
“We have a claimant, Vainlyn,” Kester stated coldly.
Vainlyn’s gaze flickered to Celena before returning to Count Kester. “A woman is not a valid claimant. The laws forbid it.”
“No, they do not,” Celena said quietly. She did not flinch when both men glared at her interruption. Raising her chin, she held Vainlyn’s gaze as she continued firmly, “I had the scholars check the laws. Nowhere does it state a female descendant of the House of Armsterid may not take the throne as ruling queen in the absence of a closer legitimate male heir.”
“I am a legitimate male heir,” Vainlyn retorted. He turned back to Count Kester, contempt filling his eyes and twisting his upper lip as he gestured sharply at Celena. “This impertinent girl is not fit to take the throne. Who is she? And what is her line?” He raised his hand when the count made to answer and snapped, “Do not spout those same lines you have fed the people of Nereida. That this woman is the Sleeping Duchess. A child’s fanciful tale! She is no more the lost duchess than she is a descendant of the House of Armsterid. If you think to play me for a fool or to force my capitulation with this trickery, you were mistaken.”
Kester drew his shoulders back and thrust his chest out as he blustered, “You are a fool, indeed, to protest the duchess is a fraud when you were the one who paid out fifty silver coins to fifty mercenaries with the promise of an additional fifty coins should they bring you proof of the Sleeping Duchess’ existence.”
The Earl of Vainlyn gave no visible sign of his surprise at that statement beyond the tiniest stiffening of his shoulders. His hard gaze darted to Celena once more before he asked, “You think I would waste my coins on so frivolous a search?”
“When you are not attempting and failing to force Glenrowan’s hand,” Kester sneered.
The earl’s face grew tight, but then his expression cleared once more. It was disturbing the ease with which he held his temper. He looked around the room before announcing in a surprisingly soft voice, “You and the rest of the old guard have taken my truce, offered out of the compassion of my heart, and spat on it.” He glanced from the men to Celena then back to the men. “While I admit she has the sort of looks to almost convince one she is the Sleeping Duchess of legend, I will never concede to rule by a woman. We are Aneirin, not Talhaearn with its ruling queens. I will, however, agree to make an offer. If the old guard gives up its attempts to stop my claim to the throne and surrenders control of Nereida to me, I will make peace with them by marrying their claimant and making her my queen. Provided she formally cedes her claim to the throne so the people understand she is my consort.”
“You cannot marry anew when you still have a wife,” Baron Halbert protested.
“My wife died a fortnight ago. Thrown by her horse.”
Celena suppressed a shiver at the emotionless way he spoke, as though he were reporting the weather rather than speaking of his wife’s death. She could not stay silent, risking Kester’s schemes changing. “I will never marry you. And, I will not cede my claim to the throne if it means placing our people at your mercy for I do not believe you posses even a drop of it.”
The earl did not even deign to look at her. Instead, he looked at the gathered noblemen before locking eyes once more with Count Kester as he pronounced in a mild, almost congenial manner. “If you do not concede to my terms in the next sennight, I will revoke the truce. I assure you, all of your holdings will be burned as long as you remain in Nereida supporting this . . . woman as claimant.”
He did not wait for anyone to argue or to even find their voices. Instead, he looked around the room once more allowing all to see the seriousness of the promise in his eyes, and then he walked out of the audience chamber. It felt as though he took all the air from the room with him. As the doors closed behind him, Celena saw fear written across far more faces than before Vainlyn’s performance. A hint of dread crept over her, piercing her heart. In a single meeting, a single audience, the Earl of Vainlyn may have upset the delicate balance in the old guard enough to cause all of their plans to collapse.
* * *
“Your grace?”
She did not look away from the sea, the breeze blowing her hair and stirring her dress the only movement. Had he not known her so well as to read the tension in her stance and the worry that caused her to rub her arms to stave off something more sinister than the gentle wind, he would have thought she had escaped some magnificent painting as she stood on the balcony off the great hall, looking out over the ocean in a pale blue dress.
Casting a cautious look over his shoulder to ensure there was no one close by, Brand stepped closer. He bent his head as he lowered his voice to just above a whisper and asked, “Are you all right?”
He heard her swift intake of breath, but she did not jump or turn to look at him. Instead, she wrapped her arms more firmly around herself as she softly answered, “Of course. You have more news.”
It was not a question, but he nodded even so. “Yes.” He paused wishing he could bring her better news, anything other than what he had to report. But then he forced the words out, knowing it was far better she learned it now than being surprised while meeting with the old guard. “Three more of the minor lords who had pledged their support to your cause fled Nereida this morning. I have confirmed that they all met with the earl at his house yesterday.”
Her shoulders rose in a sigh as she hung her head. “How many is that now?”
“Today’s flight brings the total up to fifteen minor nobles who have renounced their support and fled.” Brand grimaced and tried to force a little lightness into his voice as he added, “However, you are still trapped with the major nobles. Their support has more pull than any of those who have fled, as they will be certain to bore you with should you give them the chance for such protestations and declarations.”
Celena finally looked at him, but there was no amusement in her eyes or curving to her lips. She looked nearly as solemn as she had in the aftermath of finding Hilida Keep destroyed. “So Vainlyn has driven off or swayed half the nobles who gathered here. Do the whispers tell you who he intends to target next? The greater nobles perhaps?”
The urge to steal her away from all of this swept over him but he forced himself to answer. “There is no confirmation. There are . . . rumors that if Vainlyn intimidates any of your stronger supporters into withdrawing, then he will likely be able to seize control of the palace.” He hesitated before adding, “There are also rumors that the old guard will push you to marry Vainlyn.”
She looked away at that and did not voice a protest. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her, offering some sort of shelter from the growing danger. But, it was not his place. He was the captain of her guard and yet he could not protect her the way he desired. Brand took a deep breath forcing his arms to remain at his sides instead of reaching for her. It was not his place.
When she did not respond, however, he could not stay silent. “Celena, the dangers are growing. If you were to capitulate, I could get you to the northern border before Vainlyn’s noose tightens around the city.”
“I will not run,” came the soft but firm words.
Brand closed his eyes for the span of a breath. He had known and expected her to give such an answer. Yet, hearing it seemed to chisel into stone that Nereida was quickly turning into the last stand for Celena. If the old guard fell . . . so would she.
Opening his eyes, he met her solemn silver gaze and bowed his head in silent acquiescence. He would not mention it again. If the worst happened, then he would have a plan in place to get Celena away from Nereida and Aneirin. “The council meeting will be . . .”
“Vastly unpleasant and full of fearful men who will no doubt see me as a ready sacrifice to appease the terror that is the Earl of Vainlyn,” Celena said with a wry smile. She touched his arm for only a moment, so fleeting he barely felt her hand. “Thank you, Brand. I . . . I thank Shaddai you are here. It would be far more difficult without you.”
“You will be able to calm this storm, Celena.”
She smiled at that, the smile lighting her eyes for the first time since he came to her. She breathed a laugh. “I am no selkie to calm storms with a word or a song.”
Brand smiled down at her, allowing his voice to grow warm, as he held her silver gaze. “No, you are not a selkie. You are the Duchess of Hilida, and the people will listen to you.”
* * *
There seemed no end to the shouting. It was enough to make her head pound, but she forced herself to focus on the chaos filling the council chamber despite the drastically reduced number of men. A lord whose name she could not remember stood from his chair and pointed a thick finger in her direction. Fear and desperation filled his eyes and tremored through his voice as he declared, “You must forgo your claim to the throne! Or Vainlyn will burn the whole of Aneirin outside of his allies!”
Celena did not even have a chance to speak before another lord shouted, “No! She is the claimant! Let her marry Vainlyn and have him be the consort!”
“Silence!” Kester roared. The men did not truly listen or obey his command. However, the shouting died down to a low rumble of whispered arguments. This seemed to satisfy the count as he continued at a slightly lower volume, “The old guard cannot support any solution that would capitulate to the Earl of Vainlyn’s threats. If he were to become the consort or take our claimant as his wife and consort, then I have no doubts that Vainlyn will see to her demise as soon as he believes he can achieve such a feat without an immediate uprising. If we capitulate, we forsake the very cause that our forefathers rallied around in support of the prince’s true heir.”
“Better to forsake our forefathers than to see our children and grandchildren starve to death because Vainlyn has burned our holdings,” shouted one man.
More men shouted their approval, filling the council chamber with their deafening cries. Count Kester’s face purpled and he gripped the arms of his chair so tightly that it was wonder he did not snap them off. He shoved out of his chair and marched across the chamber to grab the man who had defied him. Yanking him close, the count shouted, “You are a coward, Reynard! You want to retreat like a whipped cur, then go to Vainlyn like the rest of those cowardly traitors! The moment we give ground to Vainlyn, he will win! Then, there will be no one left to stand between him and his ambitions or his revenge! He will not forget who was among the old guard just because you wish to throw us over. He will remember, and he will hunt you down like a cur!”
Reynard shoved at the count, but could not get the man to release him. “Enough! I would rather live a coward than see my family perish because you are blinded by your ambitions! There is no hope to keep Vainlyn off the throne now. Our only claimant is this woman who you say is the Duchess of Hilida, an estate that went to the crown a hundred years ago!”
“She is the only means to keep the throne from falling into Vainlyn’s hands!” Kester retorted.
“And place it in yours?” Reynard asked, his lip curling into a sneer.
“Would you rather have Vainlyn on the throne? Place the entirety of the kingdom into his hands? He will ruin the kingdom and hunt you down if you do not stand strong, Reynard.” Kester’s expression darkened as he added, “And if you think running off to Vainlyn will protect you, he is not the only one who knows how to reach into a traitor’s home and take what he loves most.”
“My lords, please!” Celena protested but she was ignored. When she attempted to stand, to go to them and force this madness to end, Baron Halbert grabbed her arm and pulled hard causing her to fall into her chair once more. He glared at her for a brief moment, then turned his nervous attention back to the struggling men. By Shaddai, they had all gone mad.
Celena could not think of a way to stop things now that the old guard had decided her voice was not to heeded. Nor did she have enough physical strength to force the two men apart as they continued struggling and shouting. She begged Shaddai for something, an idea or a word or . . . or anything really that would defuse the growing tensions in the room as more men got into shoving and shouting matches.
The chamber doors opened, and a tall man wrapped in a black cloak and hood strode into the room. Count Adred leapt to his feet, fear flickering across his face before vanishing behind righteous indignation. “You! Who are you? You have no right to be here as this is a meeting of the old guard!”
The man did not drop his hood, nor did he hesitate in his steady approach. The men around him fell silent, releasing whichever of their fellows they were arguing with, and parted before him. Even Count Kester seemed to forget his own brashness as his grip on Reynard went lax and he stared at the stranger.
Celena’s heart started beating faster and it was all she could do not to leap to her feet, this time in joy and relief. If her suspicions were correct. Oh Shaddai, let it be him.
The man never dropped his hood, but he came to a stop before her chair and bowed slightly. This act seemed to provoke Kester into speech as the count sputtered, “You will declare yourself or you will be taken to the dungeons! Are you one of Vainlyn’s messengers?”
“I am not now, nor have I ever been in the camp of the Earl of Vainlyn,” came the low reply. Celena barely resisted smiling as the hooded man continued with a solemn calm that demanded attention more readily than any shouting match, “I am the Duke of Glenrowan. And, I have come to Nereida to offer my support to the Duchess of Hilida’s claim to Aneirin’s throne.”
Thank Shaddai, he had changed his mind. She would not and could not question the duke now, but that did not stop her from rising and offering a nod. Reaching out a hand to him, she smiled. “Your presence here is both an honor and a comfort, your grace.”
The duke took her hand in his gloved one and once more bowed his head. “You were persuasive, Duchess, and I decided you were correct. The only way to protect my people as well as the rest of Aneirin is by standing with you and ensuring the Earl of Vainlyn never lays his hands on the throne.”
“You are the Duke of the Glenrowan?” Kester questioned, his expression darkening once more. “You should show your face to us.”
The duke did not show much as look at Kester as he stated simply, “I am not a puppet at your whim, Count. You cannot force my hand any more than Vainlyn.” His masked face was just visible beneath the shadow of his hood as he focused on Celena once more. “Your grace, send word when we may meet at your convenience.”
“Of course, your grace. And, welcome to Nereida.”
The duke offered another slight bow and then he walked out of the chamber with the same steady confidence as he had entered, the gathered men once more instinctively parting before him. Silence reigned in the wake of his passage. For a few precious moments at least.
“You spoke to the Duke of Glenrowan?” Kester snapped.
Celena met his furious gaze and offered a serene nod. “Yes. And, I believe we should thank Shaddai that I was able to travel to his estate because I was assured he would ignore a letter.” A little smile curved her lips at the aghast expression that garnered from the count, but she kept her tone sweet as she looked around the room and said, “I believe this turn of events requires a recess, do you not agree?”
Count Kester looked as sour as though he had bitten into a raw bitter orange, but he nodded to the men. Several of the lords cast uncertain looks at Celena as they left but at least they were no longer arguing. When all but the three leaders of the old guard left the room, Celena made to leave as well. Only to stop when Count Kester stepped into her path, his sour expression rapidly replaced by fury as he hissed, “You will not meet the Duke of Glenrowan without one of us present, do you understand?”
Celena bit back an instinctive retort. Instead, she kept her expression and voice as mild as she could manage as she said, “I do not know if the duke would like such a meeting.”
“That man is dangerous beyond what you could even imagine, and you will not meet with him alone.”
She offered a little nod. “Yes, of course. I appreciate your concern for me, however, it is for naught. I am certain the duke would not object to my bringing Captain Brand to the meeting as chaperone.” She smiled sweetly as she added, “I know you share my faith in Captain Brand for continuing to keep me safe.”
When none of the men could offer an immediate response, she took the opportunity to nod to them and then escaped the council chamber as fast as she could without running. Her heart was pounding already, and she could only pray that she had not tipped her hand too early. The duke’s arrival had given her courage, but she still needed to be careful. Shaddai willing, the knowledge that she had swayed the Duke of Glenrowan to supporting her claim would bolster the courage of the minor lords.
* * *
A man was approaching Celena as she spoke with the two men currently in charge of taming Nereida’s gardens. Brand stayed back, hidden by a hedge of overgrown roses, as he eyed the man. He wore the plain garb of a tradesman and would have passed for one of the workers brought in to aid with the gardens save for the fact that he walked like a swordsman. And, he kept glancing around like a weasel wary of a dog guarding the chickens.
Celena and her companions moved further down the walk to examine a different part of the garden. The man increased his pace. Brand waited until he drew even with his position and then lunged. Grasping the man by his tunic, he yanked hard. Hauling the man into the somewhat hidden alcove, Brand caught his hand before he could draw a knife from his sleeve. They grappled, shoving each other into the thorns.
The sound of pounding feet distracted Brand for a moment as he glimpsed another tradesman rushing down the path with blade drawn. A fist landed on his ribs just above his still healing wound and a groan burst free, but he did not let go of his current opponent. He dragged the man close and slammed his forehead into the man’s nose. The man uttered a strangled yelp.
The other assassin flew through the air, tossed by someone Brand could not see. He landed hard, groaning.
Brand ducked as his opponent’s free hand flew toward his head. He landed a punch to the man’s midsection crumpling him with satisfying success. He hit him again, this time in the jaw, and his opponent’s eyes rolled back into his skull as his legs gave out.
As the man collapsed, Brand turned his attention back to the other assassin only to find a cloaked figure standing over his limp body and nudging away a knife with his boot. The sound of more boots made him tense, then he relaxed as his men raced around the bend. A quick command and they were dragging the assassins away. Only then did Brand turn to his unlooked for helper. He offered a curt nod. “My thanks, your grace.”
“Will you be informing the duchess of this incident?”
Brand glanced down the path where she had vanished and then turned back to the duke. “No. She knows the stakes have risen. No need to add to her worries about a bold enemy.”
There was silence, then the duke nodded. “I see. You suspect Vainlyn to be behind this attack.”
“Would you disagree with such a conclusion, your grace?”
“Those men will never confess to his involvement. I have caught enough of them to know.” The duke gestured toward the gardens where Celena and her companions had vanished and added in a lower tone, “I know also that the duchess is not a woman who will strike against an enemy based on suspicions alone. Do you disagree?”
Brand sighed, his mind filling with the memory of Celena’s horror at the news of the last assassin’s swift execution. “She is a good-hearted woman and chooses to believe the best of us all despite what rumors may say or others may whisper in her ears.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile as he added sardonically, “She even believed me to be the second son of a noble when I first woke her.”
“And she dared to trespass into Glenrowan on the hope I would listen to her,” the duke mused.
The wry smile turned into a satisfied smirk, then a full grin as Brand chuckled. “You are here, are you not? Somehow the duchess convinced you to join her cause.”
The duke did not answer at first, then he bowed his head slightly. “She did. And now Kester and his hunting dogs attempt to frighten her into submission with their snarls.” He turned toward Brand allowing him to glimpse the eyes behind the mask despite the shadow cast by the hood, and added, “What happens next will depend on her ability to stand firm against them. Aneirin does not need a kingmaker ruling from behind a fair queen. Belfarad’s kingmaker is causing refugees to venture north with the few caravans willing to cross our kingdom. I will not put a kingmaker in power.”
Brand met the duke’s gaze steadily as he replied, “You are not going to do that. You are helping a queen take what is needed to save our people.”
“You seem certain.”
He almost laughed but still he nodded. “I shared your fears, but the more I have watched Celena, especially in her decision to approach you, the more certain I become that she is more skilled at the games nobles like to play with each other than most of the nobles. If she did not have such a good heart and genuine care for the people, I think we would all tremble before her intentions.” Brand glanced around the gardens as he added, “She has laid plans to make Nereida and Aneirin prosperous again. She’s only biding her time until she is on the throne. Mark my words, your grace. If you put her on the throne, it will not take long for her to disappoint Kester’s dreams of ruling through her or to make strides in reviving the country.”
The duke did not respond but his watching gaze felt heavy. Brand refused to flinch or to give ground. Finally, the duke offered another nod. “Then we shall put the duchess on the throne.” He started to leave, but turned back to Brand and pointed at him. “Stay close to her, Captain. If Kester begins to truly fear he is losing control over his pawn, he will not wait long to cripple her.”
* * *
A hush fell over the council chamber in stark contrast to the shouts and chaos that had filled its confines only two days earlier. The presence of the Duke of Glenrowan, wrapped in his black hood and cloak, seemed to quell even the more querulous members of the council. Celena glanced at him wishing she had been able to schedule a private meeting with him. But Count Kester or another of the old guard always seemed to appear, during the moments she planned to send a message to the duke, forcing her attention to some sort of pressing need. She had wanted to discuss why he changed his mind before they sat in another council meeting, but it seemed she would need to wait on those answers. Tonight. She would have him meet with her tonight.
Count Adred was one of the few lords who had not been completely cowed by the presence of the duke and his voice rang out, shattering the silence. “Sitting here in silence like a group of pheasants waiting to be hunted will do us no good. We must decide on a course of action and we must decide on it today!”
Lord Reynard took care not to look at the cloaked duke even as he tugged at his yellow tunic in a sort of nervous tic before he glared at Count Adred. “The Earl of Vainlyn is too powerful to fight against now. He has either swayed or frightened away over half of our allies. The only way to keep this from turning into a massacre is by surrendering the throne.” His gaze skittered to Celena for only a moment before he locked eyes with Kester as he added, “Perhaps we should hand the claimant over to him as well. Whether he marries her or banishes her, it would go far in appeasing him.”
Celena almost shook her head at the man’s ill logic. He looked rather haggard, and she could not help wondering if he had gotten much sleep since Vainlyn first issued his ultimatum. She still had not figured out where Lord Reynard’s holdings were, but she suspected they were close enough to Vainlyn’s that he had more reason than most to fear the earl’s promised retribution. The poor man must have felt desperate, and she could not help but feel pity for him.
Kester, on the other hand, clearly felt neither empathy nor sympathy for the man as he sneered, “You’ve turned into such a coward, Reynard, it is a wonder and a half that you yet remain in the palace.”
She glanced at Kester then back at Lord Reynard who had gone nearly white around his lips as his hands trembled. She leaned forward slightly and stated with gentle firmness, “Lord Reynard, while I understand the earl’s threats are not ones to be ignored lightly, I will not go to him of my own will or by any other’s because such a man has only one response when he receives what he wants. Spite. Are there any here who can attest to the Earl of Vainlyn as a man who will simply ignore perceived slights to his person?”
Count Kester’s glare was nearly blistering as he snapped, “Vainlyn will burn our holdings no matter what we give him. Instead of playing the coward or the fool, we must show we are not to be cowed into submission or into betraying everything our fathers and grandfathers have fought for during the last century! I am not a coward to be intimidated into stepping aside so a madman may take the throne after slaughtering his way through the noble houses for the last twenty years! I will not have it!”
“Then, what will you have?” came the low question, cutting through the growing murmurs as precisely as a keen blade.
The room went silent once more as all eyes turned to the cloaked duke. He had not moved or even shifted in his chair and yet his presence seemed to loom across the room, forcing all to heed his words. When no one answered and even Kester had sunk into his chair, the duke’s low voice once more filled the room. “If we are not to bow to the earl and we are not to engage in twenty more years of useless war, then we must make a show of strength.”
Kester shifted in his chair as though he desired nothing more than to leap out of it and perhaps attempt to throw the duke from the chamber. Although Celena rather doubted many men would dare to attempt such an act and even fewer could dream to be successful in it. Instead, the count sounded almost surly like a boy foiled in his schemes as he asked, “Just what sort of show do you think Vainlyn would be inclined to respect outside of armed conflict?”
“The matter is simple as is the solution. Arrange for the Duchess of Hilida to have her coronation as queen.”
“What?” Adred shouted.
The duke ignored him as he continued, “The coronation will grant legitimacy and strength to her position because she will no longer be another claimant in a long line. She will be queen.”
* * *
The sound and smell of horses was a small comfort after too much time trapped in a room filled with quarrelling men. The third such meeting in as many days since the Duke of Glenrowan proposed her coronation as the best solution and still they argued over whether a coronation should happen. Count Kester and his two boon companions were wary of the commitment. However, she could not help feeling that Kester in particular was fighting against her coronation because it was proposed by the Duke of Glenrowan and he clearly feared the man. Perhaps he also feared that she would become Glenrowan’s pawn and not his own.
Slipping through the stable, an unbidden smile pulled at Celena’s lips when a familiar dapple grey charger stuck his head over his stall door and whickered at her. She offered Pebbles a slice of her apple, laughing softly as he lipped it from her palm. Rubbing his nose, she crooned, “I have missed your company, mighty steed. Perhaps we should have Brand take you down to the beach and then you may toss him into the waves.”
The horse snorted then nuzzled her arm, attempting to reach the remainder of the apple. Smiling, Celena fed him the rest of the apple. She rubbed his nose again, then patted his arched neck. The horse responded by lipping at her hair.
Lowering her voice further, she whispered, “No matter Brand’s accusations, you are far less ornery than any one of these noblemen. Glenrowan’s proposal is either the beginning of a winning stroke or of a horrible loss where the pawn is captured before she can be crowned.” She stroked Pebble’s neck as she added in an even softer undertone, “But, this may be the only move we can make under the circumstances. I will not be like the king of Belfarad.”
With a final pat to Pebbles’ neck, Celena hurried out of the stable. The scent of rain was heavy on the air and she did not particularly desire to be soaked. However, when she reached the path that went to the gardens, she found she could not help venturing through them once more. The gardeners were working hard to tame the wildness into something more manageable, but there were still places where she felt she could disappear without worrying that the old guard would easily stumble across her. Where the roses grew, there was a little alcove with trellis and stone bench where she could sit hidden from all.
She had almost reached the correct path when she nearly collided with someone. They both leaped back and then Celena recognized the man. The smile that appeared when he laid eyes on her was bright and genuine, and she could not help smiling in return. “Sir George.”
The knight offered a slight bow. “Your grace. I must apologize for nearly trampling you. It was not my intent at all.”
She laughed softly. “I am much relieved to hear it, Sir George.” She hesitated and then added, “I was hoping to stroll through the gardens before the storm blows in and traps us inside. Would you care to accompany me?”
Sir George smiled as he gallantly offered an arm. “It would be my pleasure and my honor to escort you, your grace.”
They walked in silence for a little way while Celena gathered her thoughts. Glancing up at the knight, she quietly asked, “I understand that Cian Gwenith has also endured a war of succession in recent years.”
“It is true, your grace.”
“Would you tell me of how the war came to an end?”
Sir George’s amiable expression changed slightly, growing almost . . . sorrowful. He sighed heavily. “I fear, your grace, that you will not much like my answer. My uncle, King Stephan, was crowned the king but he still fought to bring the country under his rule. The nobles in the north were particularly difficult, and he eventually had to resort to brute strength to bring them to heel.” Sir George paused, his gaze distant as though he were far away, before he added solemnly, “Our country is still in the progress of healing the rift between north and south. Although it does help that we now have two firm allies in the north. The Marquise of Carabas and the Earl of Silvermere hold our northernmost estates and together they form our border with Talhaearn and with the Burnt Lands.”
“Are they good men?”
“The earl is, although he also tends to keep to himself.” Sir George’s expression softened and his tone grew gentle as he continued, “The marquise . . . She is a marvel, truly. I’ve never met a woman like her before or since, and she continues to impress. She has taken steps to completely revitalize the trade in the northern reaches of Cian Gwenith, allying with the Earl of Silvermere to do so.”
“She sounds quite . . . inspiring.”
“Oh but she is that,” Sir George agreed, his tone almost reverent. “She was a shepherdess before my uncle bestowed the estate of Carabas on her, and she has used that knowledge to her advantage. Bringing sheep to the northern estates, creating a veritable empire with her wool goods.”
Celena raised her brows at this, but then she smiled. “You seem very fond of her. Have you not proposed?”
Sir George’s almost beatific expression vanished, and a dull red crept up his neck to fill his cheeks. He cleared his throat, coughed, and then cleared his throat again. “I . . . That is . . . The Marquise of Carabas has married another. Some time ago, in fact.” He cleared his throat, but the words still sounded strangled as he added, “I had hoped, yes, but she chose a rogue. A good man but a rogue nonetheless.”
“Oh. I am sorry to mention it. I only thought . . .”
Sir George was already shaking his head. “No, you could not have known. No one outside of Cian Gwenith would know that I foolishly pined for a woman who chose another. And then few there know it. I am recovered from it, however.” He offered a wry smile. “I fear I should not have revealed Helena’s . . . the marquise’s humble origins. Though she certainly would have revealed it, had it been asked or relevant to the conversation.”
For a man who claimed to be well recovered from his lost love, he certainly sounded like a man in love to her ears. But, Celena only smiled. The topic pained the knight, and it would be cruel to continue reminding him of what could have been his. She changed the conversation to the flowers around them even as she mused that Sir George was perhaps still too fond of the marquise to make any woman a suitable husband for now.
* * *
The low murmur of conversations was a pleasant change from the shouting in the council chamber. Celena sipped her wine as she observed the table. The small dinner party had been her suggestion to Sir George, and then she had expanded the invitation to include both the Duke of Glenrowan and Brand. Out of obligation, she had also invited Baron Halbert. Fortunately, neither Count Kester nor Count Adred had been available for an invitation, and Baron Halbert was generally the more pleasant of the three men. Thus far, he had behaved himself . . .
Baron Halbert picked at his meat and then addressed himself to Sir George. “How fares your uncle? I heard there were difficulties in the north this past winter.”
Sir George took a drink of his wine and then smiled slightly. “My uncle fares as well as can be expected of any king.” The smile vanished as he added, “However, he has found cause to worry that there may be dragons hidden among his nobles.”
Celena tensed as the image of emerald green eyes that trapped and held flitted through her memory. But she said nothing as Baron Halbert let out a snort. “Dragons? Nonsense! They’re long gone from the Five Kingdoms. And, dragons could not hide their scales Utter nonsense.”
Catching Sir George’s eye, Celena raised a finger to her lips in mute appeal. Fortunately, the knight seemed to understand as he bowed his head ever so slightly and then changed the topic to Baron Halbert’s horses. The baron seemed happy enough to wax eloquent about the fine horses he bred on his holdings.
When the baron declared himself finished and made his way from the room, Celena wasted no time in her new purpose. “Before we all retire for the night, I was wondering if you would share more about your uncle’s concerns over dragons, Sir George.”
The knight looked startled and even a little suspicious, but then his expression cleared. “Yes, I should not have mentioned it earlier. But my uncle’s fears are . . . valid.”
“I know,” Celena said quietly. “Tell me of the reason they came into being.”
“There was a dragon disguised as a human living in Carabas until this past winter when the marquise freed it.”
“Was it a female?” she asked, emerald eyes and black hair once more filling her mind’s eye.
She barely noticed Glenrowan and Brand looking at her as she focused on Sir George. Some of the tension in her melted when he shook his head. “No, it was a male dragon. He disguised himself as the Marquise of Carabas for years, decades even. I saw him shift from human to dragon or else I would not believe it either.”
“What happened when King Stephan learned of this incident?”
Sir George grew solemn before he said softly, “He fears there are more of them lying in wait.”
Celena tilted her head as she studied him. “Is that why he sent you to Belfarad?”
“The king and his maker are not dragons.” His gaze lifted from the trencher before him and locked onto her. “How did you know of this ability in dragons?”
“I was cursed by a dragoness who looked as human as any of us sitting here, and that was after the dragon wars ended in Aneirin.” Celena tapped a nail against the side of her goblet as she added quietly, “We may have made the Five Kingdoms inhospitable to the dragons, but we were fools to think we would drive all of the survivors out. Our ancestors were fools to attempt it.”
“You cannot think there is any good in a dragon,” Sir George protested.
Celena met his wondering gaze steadily as she said firmly, “I think we cannot know now because any survivors yet remaining in the Five Kingdoms are no doubt so embittered toward humans as to believe there is no good to be found in us. We were all created by Shaddai, and He made no difference between the race of men and the other great races as far as the ability to be good. Or else we should look at the survivors of every war of succession and protest as there cannot be any good in them because they supported one side or the other. It is the height of foolishness to make such sweeping judgments because a few voices speak loudest.”
Sir George colored in response and bowed his head. “You are . . . You are right, Duchess. Forgive my insolence.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she murmured. She only hoped her words would stick with him.
Sir George took his leave shortly after so only Brand and the duke remained in the room. Celena’s shoulders drooped and she covered her face with her hands as she sighed heavily. Then a wry laugh escaped her as she lowered her hands once more. Meeting the others’ gazes, she offered a little smile. “I fear that it seems rather doubtful that the Earl of Vainlyn is in fact a nefarious dragon who has set his eyes on such an ambitious prize as a human kingdom’s throne. He seems too prone to displays of power to resist revealing himself if he were in fact a dragon.”
Brand huffed a laugh. “He’s bad enough as a human. We should thank Shaddai that he is not one of these bitter dragons hiding among the humans.”
“We should indeed,” Celena mused. She turned her smile on the duke as she added lightly, “In truth, you would seem a more likely candidate for being a dragon in disguise, your grace. Given your penchant for obscurity, reputation for fierceness, and a rather stubborn insistence on defying your fellow humans’ wishes.”
Brand made a choking sound as the duke rose from his chair. The Duke of Glenrowan offered a deep bow. Then he stated drily, “I will make certain never to breathe fire around court.”
Celena laughed. “That is a pity for I feel certain a little fire would do some of the court good.”
* * *
Brand rounded the corner at a run only to stop abruptly right before he ran into the very woman he had been attempting to find. “I was beginning to worry that Pebbles had abducted you for some wild ride across the kingdom.”
The flippant words fell from his lips with surprising ease considering how hard his heart had started beating when one of his men reported they had somehow lost the duchess. He looked her over, searching for any hint of distress. Silver blonde hair glowed almost white in the moonlight and her silver eyes snared him when they glanced up at him. His breath caught for the span of a heartbeat before she turned away from him and back to the painting she had been studying. Her voice was low, barely stirring the air, as she asked, “Do you think we can stop Vainlyn without further bloodshed?”
The question startled him. Then, he noticed the sealed scroll in her left hand. “Has he written you with more demands?”
“No. I wrote him.” Celena drew a deep breath but still did not look at him as she continued, “I wrote him in an attempt to open a dialogue that would allow for a peaceful negotiation. And, he sent it back unopened with a note saying he will not accept notes from a woman who is not counted his already.”
“He is an ass,” Brand stated.
“Oh I have no doubt of that, however, he is dangerous.” Celena gestured to the painting in front of her. “This is King Eric, my cousin. Last time I came here, I received advice. This time . . . it is only memories I find.” She paused and asked in a whisper so soft he could barely hear her, “You still have it, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“It is safe then.”
It was not a question, but he still felt compelled to answer with a low “Yes.” He hesitated before adding, “You are concerned by Sir George’s stories.”
“King Stephan’s trouble in reuniting his kingdom is . . . concerning, yes. I do not want to see the same thing happen to Aneirin. Our people have suffered enough already.”
“The dragons among nobles does not concern you?”
“Their eyes give them away, eventually. If they hold your gaze, you cannot move, and they shine like jewels held in the firelight.” Celena glanced at him and touched his arm. “Never engage in a staring contest with a dragon. It will end poorly for you.”
“There’s something you should know.”
“Are you going to tell me you are a dragon, Brand?”
He chuckled in spite of himself. “Ah no. Though that would come in handy, would it not? You could be the queen of dragons.” He sobered as he recalled his purpose in speaking at all. He looked around. There was no one to be seen, but he did not quite trust there not to be listening ears. Drawing her away from the paintings, Brand lowered his head near hers and whispered in her ear, “Count Kester has given orders to move his family and Adred and Halbert into the royal wing.”
She stiffened but said nothing. Then, she slowly nodded. “I expected he would make such a move soon. Though I had held out hope that I was wrong about his ambitions.”
“I was afraid it would be a shock,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, a sad smile curving her lips. “I prefer to look for the best in people and hope for them to do the right thing. That does not make me blind nor so naïve that I do not recognize drakes in the shadowed ledges as I walk.” Her smile faded, and a determined glint entered her silver eyes as she added, “I will deal with Kester and his comrades after the coronation. Even with Glenrowan’s support, it is risky to chance losing the old guard’s support. I must do what is best for the people first.”
“Even if it means inviting drakes to nest in your gardens?”
“Even drakes may be driven out, Brand.” She grasped his hand and gave it a light squeeze before she whispered in his ear, “Trust me. I have a plan for dealing with those who think to control me. I am a pawn for only a little while longer.” Her breath warmed his cheek as she added, “I will find a way to stop Vainlyn without losing more lives to a war that’s lasted too long already.”
It took everything in him to keep from holding on when she stepped away from him, allowing his hand to fall from her grasp. She offered him another little smile. “Thank you, Brand . . . for everything.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Brand could only offer a bow. When she left the hall of portraits, he followed in her wake. Not leaving until he had escorted her to her room. Even then he insisted on inspecting the chamber for any hidden dangers despite her bemused look. If Vainlyn did not want to give up his claim to the throne, Brand had little doubt he would cease his attempts on Celena’s life. And, Kester’s move to place himself and his closest hangers-on in the first repaired rooms of the royal wing was more than a little concerning. Whatever Celena had in mind for them, he could only hope she would have the opportunity to act on it.
* * *
Celena surveyed the room of solemn faced men. Only the Duke of Glenrowan’s expression was hidden as he continued to preserve the secrecy of his heritage and perhaps even the mask. Given the schemes of some of the nobles present, she could hardly blame him for keeping the focus off any ridiculous objections they might have to a nobleman of Kushite heritage. Baron Halbert looked furious even after giving his speech.
The doors to the council chamber opened and in marched the Earl of Vainlyn flanked on either side by both her personal guard and his own. The sight of Brand and Vainlyn nearly abreast with each other was . . . disturbing . . . until Brand caught her gaze and grimaced. She almost laughed at that. No doubt he would have something to say about the eerie similarities between the two of them. But it would have to wait. This was not the time for amusement.
The earl’s hard brown eyes were fixed on her. She felt the baron trembling with suppressed rage and placed a hand on his arm in a silent plea. Only when she saw his grip on the chair arm relax out of the corner of her eye did she turn her full focus on the earl. “You have our thanks for appearing before us in so timely a manner, Vainlyn.”
Vainlyn smirked but the hardness never left his eyes as he looked her over slowly. “When you sent your soldiers to my very door, who was I to ignore my enemy’s summons? Have you come to your senses, girl? Do you summon me to tell me you have decided to accept my offer to be my queen? Or perhaps to request a quiet life of exile?”
Celena’s lips curled into a false smile as she said lightly, “I fear I must disappoint on both counts, sir. In fact, I requested your presence here today because of news received just after dawn.”
“Oh?” The earl made a show of raising both brows. “What news would that be?”
“The news that Baron Halbert’s lands were razed and his horses stolen, scattered, or killed.” Celena held the man’s gaze as she continued, “Given the threat you made when we did not first capitulate to your demands, it seemed . . . reasonable to assume this was your doing. Do you wish to make a defense?”
“Make a defense?” the earl echoed. Then he burst into laughter, the harsh sound scraping over her nerves. He stopped laughing almost too quickly and turned his attention to Count Kester. “Your little pet is thinking too highly of herself, Kester.” His upper lip quivered as though he wanted to snarl but never permitted it as he spat, “How dare you? You think you may treat me in such a manner? When I have the backing of over five and thirty noble houses? I will be king! The throne will never be in your hands and this little trollop will not be permitted to pretend she has any authority over me! She is nothing more than some orphan waif one of your men found in a forsaken village and decided to groom into a duchess who died over a hundred years ago! She is not a queen to summon noblemen before her and take their accounting. Nor is she powerful in her own right. Those of you who have cast your lots behind her are fools! The day you face the executioner is the day you may thank this foolish woman for leading you astray and into a fool’s errand!”
She watched more than a few men quail at the earl’s fury, but she pressed onward keeping her own tone at a more civil and dignified volume. “Do you mean to deny that you have carried out your threat against the old guard’s holdings? Perhaps through the mercenaries you enjoy hiring to carry out your will? What is your defense to these accusations?”
The Earl of Vainlyn spat on the floor in front of her just missing her skirts. He sneered at her, “I am not going to defend myself to you. You are a woman, a foolish woman who is playing at being queen when in truth you are as powerless and helpless as a washerwoman. This is not your world or your life. Go back to wherever they found you, and pray to your Shaddai that I do not find you again.”
He turned and faltered for the briefest of moments when his gaze rested on the silent Duke of Glenrowan. But he recovered so quickly that she wondered if she had imagined the hesitation to begin with, and then he stormed out of the room with three more lords trailing in his wake along with his personal guards. Brand and the other guard bowed to her before retreating out of the room, closing the doors behind them.
Kester rose to his feet as the assembled men sat in hushed silence. He looked around the room, pausing only momentarily when his gaze passed over Lord Reynard, before he turned to Celena. “There is only one choice left to us. You must choose a consort so that we may proceed with the coronation. Vainlyn’s presence in Nereida is growing more troublesome and since he has begun ignoring his own truce, we have little time before the fighting will be in the streets. Unless you choose a consort, Duchess, I fear it will be impossible to maintain your positon without bloodshed. If you take a strong consort, however, I believe it will bring back the ones who have lost faith in you.”
* * *
Celena woke to the sound of fists pounding on the door. She slipped from her bed just as the door was thrust open and three men marched into the room. Shock stole her voice as she met the determined gazes of Counts Kester and Adred with Baron Halbert fast on their heels. Keenly aware of her vulnerability clad in only a linen nightgown, she forced herself to stand tall and meet the men’s gazes. “My lords, what has happened? An attack?”
Baron Halbert looked confused and darted a look at his fellows before answering, “No, there is no attack.”
“Then there is no reason for you to enter my chamber while I am unprepared for visitors,” she said, allowing just a touch of chill to enter her voice. “If this matter cannot wait until a more reasonable hour, then it may at least wait until I have dressed for the day.”
“No, it most certainly may not,” Kester snapped. “This matter must be settled now before the rest of the council turn tail and run. Your little display yesterday nearly cost us the throne.” He pointed a finger in her face and added with grim promise, “Do not forget who it was that urged you to this, Celena. Do not forget that you need our continued support if you do not wish to face an executioner.”
Celena met his gaze steadily but did not argue, not when he was in such a foul mood. “I had hoped the Earl of Vainlyn would prove more reasonable than he did. You did say we must show our strength. But it seems I did underestimate his pull on his fellow nobles.” She hesitated then asked quietly, “What is it that you wish to speak to me about, my lords?”
“The matter of your choice in consort,” Kester pronounced.
Count Adred offered a sharp nod as he said, “We noticed your eyes have been drawn by one man in particular and while he might be suitable to others, he simply is not a suitable choice for a queen.”
Her heart started pounding harder and she struggled to keep from reacting visibly to their words. How had they noticed her fondness for Brand? She had been so careful not to even think of him in such a way since their return from Glenrowan’s estate. Or at least not to mention anything of him in a manner that would be too . . . enthusiastic for a mere trusted guard. Fear crept over her as she realized that Kester at least would be more than likely to call for Brand’s execution or exile as a branded criminal if he even imagined Brand held her regard.
Struggling to maintain her calm, Celena licked her lips then whispered, “My lords? I am . . . I am . . . without words.”
Kester huffed. “He may be the nephew of a king and third in line to the throne, but he is not a suitable match for you.”
She almost sagged as relief rushed over her, leaving her limp. Sir George. They were speaking of Sir George, not Brand. She glanced down at the rushes strewn across her floor before she murmured, “You . . . do not approve of Sir George, then.”
It was not a question, but they took it as such. Baron Halbert nodding so hard it was a wonder his head did not come loose. He pointed at her, a look of warning in his eyes, as he stated, “No, we do not. The man could be suitable enough, I suppose, but not as your consort. And certainly not with the madness that clearly runs through his family.”
She looked up at that. “Madness?”
“All that talk of King Stephan searching for dragons among his nobles bodes ill. Mark my words, that is the sort of madness that will see him and his house toppled,” Baron Halbert intoned solemnly.
“Such talk would taint not only his nephew, but your own position should you choose him,” Count Adred warned.
“While I do not think his uncle’s wariness of dragons is cause to think Sir George may inherit a madness from his lineage, I do agree that I have not found myself thinking of him as one who could be my husband,” she said slowly. “However, I think Sir George is a good man and one we should treat as a friend.”
“Yes, yes, he may be a friend but not a close one. If Mad King Stephan loses his throne, I do not want Aneirin to follow suit due to your association with his nephew,” Kester stated firmly. His expression soured suddenly, and he stuck his hands behind his back as he circled her. “There is still the matter of who will be your consort.”
Celena stifled the urge to snap at him. It was bothersome to play at being a pawn, but she need only wait a little longer, she was certain. Instead, she gave the lords her utmost attention as she asked sweetly, “Would I be wrong in guessing you have come to a conclusion as to whom I should take as consort, my lords?”
Kester stopped in front of her, a hard look entering his eyes and making her wonder if he perhaps guessed she did not intend to marry before her coronation if she could escape it. Instead, he turned to Adred and grumbled, “I do not like it still.”
Adred pursed his lips, nodding, but he somehow sounded almost enthused as he said, “Your grace, we would have far preferred it if you had married into one of our houses since that would be a sign of true union and peaceful accords between your house and the old guard. But as you know we have no sons or grandsons who are eligible to marry you. Therefore . . .” He hesitated, glancing at Kester, then continued, “Therefore, we have agreed that there is only one solution to the matter. A man who would be the most appropriate as your consort. And, he is one whom even that cur Vainlyn fears to cross openly.”
Celena looked uncertainly between them, the name in her head seemed quite impossible yet it was all that fit. “Of whom do you speak, my lords?”
“The Duke of Glenrowan,” Count Adred said in a rush.
Baron Halbert nodded, adding, “He is the strongest noble in Aneirin and most importantly he does not have a rival claim to yours.”
“He also seems to have taken a liking to you,” Count Kester said grudgingly, “since you successfully lured him out of his estate and into declaring a formal support of your claim.”
“Marrying the duke with his . . . reputation should also go far in eliminating the chances of rebellion when you are crowned, your grace,” Halbert added.
Celena could only stare at them. When she had sought the duke out as an ally, it had not even crossed her mind that he might become her consort. But if it was the only way . . . She shook her head raising a hand to forestall the argument brewing in Kester’s eyes. “My lords, please. I . . . I require time to think this over. Please, I cannot make my decision here and now, not like this.”
Kester stepped forward, face purpling, as he shook his finger at her. “Now, you will listen to me and you will do—”
“My lords, have you become lost? Or perhaps you have forgotten what it means to await a lady’s rising?”
Celena almost closed her eyes at the welcome sound of that sardonic voice. Brand entered the room, carefully avoiding looking at her even as he eyed the three men. A smile that did not reach his eyes and a relaxed stance that did not completely hide the way his hand rested on his sword hilt was all he offered. “My lords? Given the hour and the duchess’ lack of preparation for visitors, perhaps I may escort you to that little room down the hall where the duchess does accept visitors outside of her private chamber. If you will follow me.”
Halbert looked nervously from Brand to his comrades while Adred and Kester looked at him with equal disdain. Then Kester stepped away from Celena shouldering his way past Brand. “You cannot wait past the end of the sennight. There is too much at stake for you to delay further.”
Adred and Halbert followed in his wake. Adred jostling Brand while Halbert skirted him. Only after the three men vanished down the hall did Celena let out the breath she had been holding. Brand murmured, “I’m sorry. I was on the training yard or I would have been here sooner.”
“It is not your fault. They were quite determined to share their . . . wisdom.” Celena smiled at him. “Thank you for coming, though.”
He did not look at her even as he offered a bow. “It was my honor, your grace. I will leave a man with instructions only to admit your maid until and unless you instruct him otherwise.”
“Thank you, Brand.”
He nodded, still not looking in her direction, and then he left the room, closing the door behind him. Celena sank back down onto the bed and dropped her head into her hands. They wanted her to marry the Duke of Glenrowan, not George. But, they did not suspect she felt more strongly for Brand than was wise for either of them. Thank Shaddai for small mercies.
* * *
Brand watched Celena from a distance as she walked with the duke and with Sir George. The knight from Cian Gwenith was doing most of the talking, but it did not seem to trouble the duke. Celena, on the other hand, was not paying nearly as much attention to the conversation as she usually did even though Sir George needed very little encouragement to carry on his conversations. Brand frowned and resisted the urge to intrude on the three just so he could find out what was troubling Celena to such a point that she failed to be completely engaged with those around her.
His hand curled into a fist as he recalled the shocked look on her face when he first found the men in her chamber. As soon as he realized what was happening, he took pains not to look on her again, not to take advantage of her even by looking at what was not meant for his eyes. When the maid sent a messenger for him to rescue Celena from unwanted visitors in her chamber, he had feared and expected to find assassins. Instead, he had found Kester and his cronies attempting to bully Celena. Men who had wives, daughters, and even granddaughters forcing their way into her chamber when she would be at her most vulnerable, simply so they could berate and admonish her into bending to their will.
He had not heard the discussion before hearing Kester begin to threaten Celena, but something had been said that troubled her. He knew her well enough to know she would not have spent the last six days without half as many smiles or attentive listening. The council of the old guard had not met since he saw the three from her chamber either. Something else that troubled him. Even the Earl of Vainlyn had ceased making as much noise. It was as though both sides were waiting for something.
He did not know what exactly but if something did not happen soon, it felt as though the tension over the city would break. Quite possibly in a very bloody manner if the reports of Vainlyn’s supporters approaching Nereida were substantiated.
Brand stayed in the shadows, watching over Celena. But in the back of his mind, he was once more going over the plan he had put into place to escape with her should Vainlyn move first.
* * *
“Biting at me will not get your oats faster, you menace of a creature.”
Celena bit back a smile as she entered the stable to see Brand scolding Pebbles even as he brushed the horse’s mane. “Perhaps he protests your ability to brush him without pulling any knots.”
Brand smirked at her. “Of course, you would take his side.”
Now she did smile. “Someone must since you are so determined to malign the poor dear.”
“Poor dear?” Brand tugged lightly on the charger’s forelock as he mused, “She thinks you’re a dear. Even after all this time and all your mischief and troublemaking.”
“Pebbles never made trouble, Brand,” she countered with a hint of laughter. “You did.”
His smirk never wavered as he protested, “I was never so maligned as I am now. Me cause trouble? You’re quite mistaken, Rose.”
His smirk vanished while Celena looked at him in surprise. He had not called her ‘Rose’ since she revealed her name. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then cleared her throat before asking softly, “I wish to walk through the gardens. Would you accompany me?”
The brush stilled against Pebbles’ neck and then Brand nodded. “Let me put this pest away. We would not want him to get out and frighten the kitchen maids with his nefarious demands for apples and carrots.”
A laugh escaped her before she stifled it. Fortunately, Brand refrained from saying anything else outrageously untrue about Pebbles and the charger was gracious enough not to take offense to his master. Soon enough she and Brand were wending their way through the gardens. They were still fairly wild, but the paths were in better upkeep and it was enough progress to almost feel like it had when she was a child. Celena glanced up at the stars, trying to summon words but none formed.
Then Brand broke the silence. “You’ve been troubled, Celena. What did Kester say to you before I got him out of your room?”
“That they do not approve of Sir George and believe his uncle to be quite mad,” she murmured without looking away from the stars. Lowering her gaze to meet his, she almost did not say anything more, but then she sighed. “They want me to take a specific man as my consort and to do so before I am crowned.”
“Who did they pick?”
“Glenrowan.”
There was no answer as they wound their way through the gardens. The flowers’ scent was heavy in the night air as more and more blossoms bloomed with the spring. She could almost imagine how it would be in the summer. A wistful thought given she did not even know if she would actually be here in the summer. She almost reached for Brand’s hand, but caught herself just before she could thoroughly embarrass herself.
Clasping her hands in front of her, she risked a peek at him. He was looking out over the gardens. She had expected him to . . . object for . . . for . . . oh she did not really know why he would object save for his past objections to Kester’s ambitions. She glanced at him again. “You are rather quiet.”
“Perhaps I do not know what to say.”
“You’ve never been speechless before; why would you begin now?” She glanced around then turned down the path that would lead them to the roses. Only when they had reached a bower surrounded by a mix of full blooms and buds did she stop. Looking up at him, she wished she knew what it was he was thinking. “Have you nothing to say?”
The corner of Brand’s mouth tilted up in a half smile. “I must admit my ever-growing shock that Count Kester would choose the Duke of Glenrowan given how verbal he has always been about his disdain for the man’s refusal to side with the old guard.”
“I think Adred forced him to it.”
“Truly?” Brand made a show of considering as he tapped a finger against his whiskered chin. “I suppose Adred must have stressed that Vainlyn’s attack on Halbert’s holdings meant they needed strength not to be found outside of Glenrowan. After all, he’s defied everyone.”
It was not the response she had expected and for some reason disappointment sat hollow in the pit of her stomach when he did not voice an objection. She studied him beneath the starlight. “Do you . . . Do you think this is the course I should follow? That it is wise?”
“I cannot make that decision for you, Celena.”
She looked away. “I do not ask it of you for it would be cowardly. However, I am surprised you seem so very . . . amenable to this suggestion. You’ve hardly liked any of the old guard’s plans.”
“Oh I have every reason to believe Kester will find a way to twist such an alliance to his benefit,” Brand assured her lightly. “However,” his tone turned more serious, “They are not wrong about Glenrowan. He is likely the most powerful man you could choose as your consort, and he is very likely the only truly honorable noble left in the whole of Aneirin. With you as the exception, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured. “It is always reassuring to hear such declarations, Brand.”
“Then I am pleased to offer them, your grace.”
She fell silent for a long while. The breeze off the sea stirred her hair and carried the scent of the ocean to mingle with the fragrance of the roses. The stars and waning moon cast their silvery light over the gardens causing shafts of pale light to break through the leaves and shine on the path. Brand’s presence was a warm shadow even when she studied the gardens in an attempt to control her feelings. Still a whisper wrenched itself free and escaped her. “I do not love Glenrowan.”
There was silence and for a moment she half-hoped, half-feared he had not even heard her. Then the warm presence came a little closer, though they still did not touch as the gruff words filled the space between them. “Celena, you have such a loving heart. Such a kind and loving heart that I have no doubt your feelings would grow for whomever you choose if you permit it.” He hesitated, and she felt the briefest touch to her shoulder but it was gone again when she turned toward him. Brand’s head was bent and his eyes in shadow as he added, “Glenrowan . . . He will keep you safe. You should be safe.”
Celena gazed up at him wishing she could see his face more clearly as a cloud obscured the moon’s light. She took a shaky breath and repeated herself. “I do not love Glenrowan.” The words she wanted to say would not come. No matter what she tried, they would not come. She reached up, taking advantage of his already bent neck, and cupped his face as she kissed him.
For an agonizingly sweet moment, she felt his arms around her as he returned the kiss. Then his hands wrapped around hers and he gently pulled them off his face as he raised his head. He did not say a single word as he stepped away releasing her hands as he did so. He would not even look at her now.
Shame burned through her filling her cheeks with heat and her eyes with moisture. She raised a shaking hand to her lips and choked out an apology before she raced past him. What had she done?
She kept her head down and did not dare to slow until she finally reached her chamber, which was mercifully empty. She locked the door before sagging against the far wall. Shaddai help her, what had she been thinking? She had not. Not really.
No. She raised a trembling hand to her lips and bit back more tears that threatened to brand her skin further with her humiliation. What had she turned into? A flighty girl newly out in the court? Where she could not even admit the truth of things to herself? She had been thinking when she kissed Brand. She had been thinking and those thoughts had been so painfully clear in her head even though she had not been able to speak them. She groaned and then whispered shakily, “I do not love Glenrowan because my heart is in your hand, Brand, son of Bard.”
Celena wiped away more tears and leaned her head back against the cool stones. If only he had not been of common birth. No. No, if only she were not of noble birth, a duchess seeking to be queen for her people’s sake. If only she did not have to sacrifice her heart’s yearning in order to preserve her country by claiming the crown.
Closing her eyes, she sniffled and then pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. She knew what she wanted, what she desired. She would have been content with Brand even if it meant fleeing the land of their birth as he had originally planned to do . . . as he still planned to do once she released him from service.
The fleeting idea of not releasing Brand from service flitted through her mind only to be banished with a firm shake of her head. Celena rose to her feet and went to her wash stand. A pitcher of tepid water sat next to the bowl. Pouring the water in, she banished any and all ideas of forcing Brand to stay with her. It would be cruel of her to do such a thing to him. Especially given the fact that she would be left with no choice but to marry for the sake of Aneirin and not to the man of her heart’s choosing.
She splashed water on her face washing away the tearstains. Drying her skin, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror of polished silver. Serene with sadness in her eyes. She almost smiled at the thought, but her lips would not curve. Celena raised her chin and met her reflection’s gaze. “You will be strong, not selfish. You will make the choice that is right for your people. Even though it will require sacrifice. You will make the right choice, the one that is best for your people.”
She nodded and continued preparing for bed. No matter how her heart ached, she would choose her people first. Sacrificing Aneirin for her own happiness was selfish and it was a line that she could not, no, would not cross. A hurting heart would heal with time. A country torn by war and left in the hands of a tyrant, by contrast, might never heal or even continue in conflict and turmoil for another hundred years. That was something she could not stand by and watch happen when it was in her power to stop it. No matter the cost . . . Shaddai, give me strength for tomorrow.
Yes, tomorrow she would find the duke and make him an offer. She would do it in the evening, no. No, she would do it in the morning before the old guard came looking for her answer. It would be better that way. And, she wanted the opportunity to discuss . . . details of the proposed union should he accept before any announcement was made before the council. Celena could only pray that the duke would be agreeable to some of her wishes for the match.
* * *
Brand strode through the gardens. He should have gone after Celena. No, he should have reacted or spoken, anything other than staying silent. But, he had not trusted himself to speak. Not when he knew . . .
He shook his head trying to clear his muddled thoughts. He rounded the curve in the path only to be forced to duck beneath a thick branch swinging through the air. Another branch struck him in the right side on top of his newly healed wound. A grunt escaped him as he stumbled. He struck out blindly, fist clipping something hard . . . leather. Another strike to his back sent him sprawling on the ground. A boot struck him in his weak side forcing the air from his lungs.
More kicks and strikes along his back, sides, and arms as he protected his head then silence. Brand hissed through his teeth as he caught the sound of pounding feet fading into the distance. He touched his side and bit back a cry of pain. The wound in his side had been reopened based on the dampness of his tunic. The healer would be so pleased to see him again; of that, he was certain.
Brand staggered to his feet with one hand pressed against his throbbing side. He searched the paths nearest him, but the assailants were gone. He was not even certain why they stopped before ensuring he was dead. If he had been killed . . .
Horror washed over him as he remembered the spindle. The spindle still hidden in his room. If he were killed before the lingering curse on Celena was broken . . . she could die.
He had to share the burden of the secret. The thought shook him, but he could not deny it. If Celena were to marry, he would have to leave her service and that would mean leaving the spindle behind as well. He needed to make sure the spindle would be safe if anything happened to him. But . . .
Glenrowan. The duke was to be her chosen consort and even if he were not for some reason, he was still the best man to share the secret. He could be trusted not to act against Celena. He had honor.
Brand forced himself to walk as quickly as he could as he made his way out of the gardens and into the palace. He needed to find Glenrowan. It could not wait until morning. He could not risk it any longer than he already had.
He ventured to Glenrowan’s quarters and knocked once. The door opened at once. The duke was without his cloak for a change as Brand entered the room. But, his mask and gloves were firmly in place. Yet, the mask did not hide Glenrowan’s curious look. “Why are you here?”
“There’s something you need to know about Celena.” Brand hesitated only for a moment before he continued tightly, “What I am telling you must never go beyond us. When Celena’s sleeping curse was broken, there was a complication.”
“Complication?”
“Her life is bound to the spindle that was cursed. If it is destroyed, she will die.”
The duke stood in front of the fireplace and folded his arms over his chest as he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are a man of honor, and I know that means enough to you that you will not use this knowledge against the duchess.” Brand hesitated and then added, “I do not know if the curse will be broken before Vainlyn sees through his plan to take revenge on my perceived betrayal.”
“So, you were one of his.”
“I was trying to leave Aneirin with more than my horse and the clothes on my back,” he snapped.
“Why did you stay?”
“Because she had hope and courage.”
The duke gave him a long look. “I assume this means the spindle is in your care.”
“Yes. It’s hidden in my room.”
“Where?”
Brand glared at the duke before he quickly changed his expression to something more relaxed as he rocked back on his heels and forced his tone to be light as he replied, “Now, now. What sort of guard do you take me for that you would ask such a thing? I could hardly reveal such a thing. You only need to be aware of its existence and its general location.”
The duke’s lips curved slightly, almost grinning for the span of a moment, before he resumed a solemn expression. He inclined his head as he responded calmly, “I see. Very well, I will keep this information safe. If Shaddai still has mercy for Aneirin, I will not need to use it.”
“I quite agree, especially since my death would be a vast inconvenience to my plan for continued living,” Brand replied cheerfully.
“I can only imagine it would,” came the dry reply.
Brand nodded to the duke and then let himself out of the room. The sense of dread hanging over him eased somewhat. The duke would not betray them, and he would keep Celena safe. His side pulled, and he suppressed a gasp at the sharp reminder of his injury. Grumbling under his breath, he reluctantly made his way to the healers.
* * *
Brand hissed through his teeth as he ignored the pull in his side. He had not needed stitches but going to practice weapons drills with his men put a strain on his aggravated wound. He breathed through the pain reminding himself it would pass. He also needed to be able to hide the discomfort completely if he wished to avoid causing Celena concern.
The memory of the kiss in the garden rose before he viciously pushed it back down. By Shaddai, he could not allow that memory to linger. Not if he was going to be able to even look at her without giving himself away. If not for the threats around her, he would be tempted to take a day or two to ride Pebbles in a long patrol around the outskirts of Nereida until he was certain he could fulfill his duties without being distracted. Unfortunately, he would not be so privileged as to earn such an escape.
The sun was barely rising in the east, its long rosy fingers still reaching toward the darkened sea, which meant he had an hour or two before he would first see Celena. He went the long way, passing by her door as he checked with the guards he had placed closest to her chamber. The sense of unease hanging over him since the night before faded slightly when the three men reported a quiet night. At least, there had not been another attempt on Celena’s life.
Of course, if his suspicions were correct, there would be another attempt when she or, more probably, the old guard announced a betrothal and then again when she was crowned. Brand’s fingers brushed against his dagger at the thought. Maybe he would wait to leave her service until after she was officially crowned. Unless . . .
The thought of learning Celena had fallen victim to an assassin was more painful than the thought of seeing her with another . . .
Brand’s steps slowed as he came to his room. The wooden door was ajar despite the fact he knew he had shut it firmly when he left last night. He had not come back after visiting first the duke and then the healer because the agitated man had forbidden him from leaving the healing rooms last night. He had barely escaped to attend training.
Wariness turned to horror when he pushed the door open and saw his belongings strewn across the room. Stepping into the destruction, Brand’s stomach clenched as he eyed the furniture that had been moved and emptied of their contents. His clothing, saddlebags, and even a few books had been tossed around while the bed had been stripped of the bedding and the mattress slashed. The spindle.
Ignoring the rest of the mess, Brand rushed to the far corner of his room. The chest he had placed in front of the loose stones had been pulled out and the stones themselves had been thrown on the ground among the rest of his belongings. The cloth-wrapped spindle, however, was nowhere to be found. Someone had stolen it.
“No,” he breathed. No, he had failed her. Celena . . .
Fresh horror grabbed him, lending speed to his feet, as he raced out of his room and through the halls to reach Celena’s chamber. She had always seemed so close at hand since they were only three halls away, but the corridors never seemed so long as they did in that moment. He ran by startled guards as he rushed to Celena’s door. The thought of her lying helpless, dying, spurred him to pound on the door only once before he forced it open. Celena leapt to her feet from where she had been sitting at her dressing table, alarm written across her pale face.
She was alive. Relief nearly sent him to his knees at the sight of her, awake and alive. She was still alive.
“Brand? What is it? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” She looked beyond him, no doubt at the empty hall or even at her other guards, before focusing on him again. “Has there been an attack?”
“No . . . Not an attack.” Brand closed the door on the curious guards and then took a deep breath. Horror was replaced by shame as he forced himself to walk toward Celena. She still looked at him with such confusion, but there was still trust in her eyes. It would not last. Bracing himself for the inevitable outcome, Brand lowered his voice and murmured, “I fear I must give you ill news all the same. The secret you charged me with . . . I have failed to keep it safe.”
* * *
Celena stared at Brand. She opened her mouth but the words would not come. She shook her head, struggling to understand what he was saying. “What are you talking about? What happened?”
Brand’s gaze dropped to the floor as he continued in the same low tone, “Last night I revealed the existence of the spindle and . . . and its importance to the Duke of Glenrowan. I was certain the knowledge would be safe with him, but this morning . . . My room was ransacked. Whoever was responsible took only one thing.”
Her legs gave out and she sat down hard on the stool in front of her dressing table. She shook her head again, mind racing. The spindle was stolen and Brand . . . “I trusted you.” The words escaped her in a shaky whisper.
Brand flinched when she looked up at him and repeated, “I trusted you. I told you of the spindle, so you could keep it safe not so you could reveal its existence to whomever you chose.” When he did not respond, anger mingled with hurt and shock, adding a sharp edge to her voice as she demanded, “Why?”
“I thought it was the best way to protect you and the duke is—”
“Not the one entrusted with my secret,” she interrupted. Rising to her feet once more, she closed the distance between them and added in a hiss, “And I never gave you permission to share that secret no matter what you thought was best.” A bitter laugh escaped her. “I thought you were the only one in all of Aneirin who was not attempting to control my movements or my decisions, and yet you have done just that. You are no better than Kester.”
“Celena, I was only trying to—”
He cut himself off when she raised her hand. Stepping back, Celena turned away from him. Anger fought to have its voice, but she swallowed the biting words. Not trusting herself to even look at him without giving away the depth of her hurt over his betrayal, she kept her back to him. She took a deep breath and then stated coolly, “I do not want your excuses or reasons. They are not important right now. What is important is that you remedy the situation. I trust you will find the spindle before it is too late.”
Even the thought of the spindle in another’s hands was enough to make her skin crawl. When she did not hear the door, she glanced in the mirror. Brand was still standing where he had been looking utterly torn and miserable. Pity stirred in her heart, but she did not dare soften her stance now. If she did, she would fall to pieces. Keeping her voice cool, she added, “Get out, Brand. I do not want to see you again unless you have news, or you have found the spindle in which case I want it returned to my hand.”
In the mirror, she watched him bow. “As you command, your grace.” As he straightened, the misery in his expression faded to determination. He strode from her room with that same determination in his every move.
For the span of a breath she dared to hope. Then, the harsh whispers of doubt pierced her to the quick. Celena took a shaky breath. Rubbing her temples, she admitted it would take a miracle to find the spindle again before whoever had taken it did something with it. The best outcome she could hope for would be an attempt at blackmail.
Crossing to her wardrobe, she pulled a pack from its floor. Opening it, she fished out the resin coated silver rose. She clutched the rose to her chest as she closed her eyes. “Shaddai, give me wisdom.”
* * *
Brand’s strides did not slow until he spied a cloaked and hooded figure in the hall outside his quarters. When the duke noticed his arrival, he ceased talking to one of the men who had accompanied him and turned to Brand. He was too calm. The thought alone was infuriating. Brand clenched his fists as he stopped in front of the duke and breathed, “Is this how you repay trust?”
“I do not know what you mean.”
The too calm, too steady answer only angered him further, but he kept his voice low for Celena’s sake. “It was stolen from my chamber. Where is it?”
The shadow cast by the duke’s hood was not enough to hide the way his mouth tightened. Yet his voice remained calm as he quietly responded, “I had nothing to do with the theft.”
Brand flexed his fingers then forced them to relax. He could not deny that he heard only truth in the duke’s answer but . . . He eased back on his heels, attempting to put the men emerging from their own rooms at ease, as he forced his tone to lighten. “Then, you will not object to my searching your men’s quarters as well as your own.”
The duke gestured to the rooms. “Search. You will find nothing.”
The Kushite among his men crossed his arms over his chest and did not move aside when Brand approached. “Abasi,” the duke quietly admonished, “let him in.”
Abasi moved to the side and Brand could feel his gaze as he stepped into the room. He checked the bed then the chest at its foot before he opened and searched through the man’s saddlebags, feeling for the spindle, but he found nothing. He checked the fireplace last. When he left the room, he nodded to Abasi though the man did not look very appeased. At least Brand had not strewn his belongings across the room.
He searched the other two men’s rooms and still did not find the spindle. Despite the sinking feeling that he would not find the spindle at all, Brand resolutely went into the duke’s quarters. He made quick work of the search and turned to face the duke who stood just inside the room. However, when he opened his mouth to speak, the duke raised a hand. He gestured to the side of his hood and then to the walls.
Brand almost groaned. How had he been such a fool? Someone had been listening to their conversation, spying on the duke no doubt. Fool, a thousand times a fool! He should have known better than to believe the duke would not be watched by his own enemies. He nodded to the duke and followed the man out into the hall.
The duke kept in step with him as he walked and only spoke after they left his men behind, and then in an undertone. “The spindle was stolen by whomever has been spying on me. I would have warned you last night, but I did not . . . notice anything odd until this morning. There was a misplaced draft in the room. They could not see in, but clearly they could hear.”
“The secret I revealed . . . It was without Celena’s permission or knowledge. The most we can hope for now is rumors to reveal who has it.”
“You know who is most likely to be responsible.”
Brand glanced at the man, but his hood obscured his expression. He glanced around them to ensure the corridor was empty of even servants. “I cannot do anything with him, and he would never permit me to search his house.” He hated the helpless feeling stealing over him. Either Vainlyn had stolen the spindle or someone else had, and if that were the case . . . “If he is not responsible, then I do not want to alert him to any trouble in Celena’s household. He would use it against her even without knowing the details.”
“This is true.”
They walked in silence for a while before the duke asked, “So what will you do now?”
“Now, I must report to Celena.”
Glenrowan nodded but did not turn back. Instead, he stayed by Brand’s side until Brand once more knocked on Celena’s door. It was opened by her maid, who stepped back to allow them entry. Brand was more than a little grateful that she had not been instructed to shut the door in his face.
Clad in a greyish-blue dress, Celena looked as cool and distant as the expression she greeted him with before she quietly dismissed her maid. She looked from him to the duke before turning back to him. “You have not found it.”
He hid a wince at her cool tone as he bowed his head. “I regret to say that I have not.”
“If I may interrupt, your grace,” the duke said, “I believe there may be a way for Brand to search more places without drawing undue attention.”
Her distant gaze flicked to the duke and determination glinted in her eyes. “I have no intention of informing the council of what has happened or why the spindle is of such import to me.”
“Nor should you,” the duke agreed. “They would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to put you under a regency if they knew of such a potent disadvantage.”
“But, you think your plan could prevent such a disaster.”
The duke nodded. There was a pounding on the door before he could speak further. Brand looked to Celena who nodded, but he still kept a hand on his dagger as he opened the door. Baron Halbert hurried into the room. “The Earl of Vainlyn has arrived. He demands an audience.”
“With me? Alone?” Celena asked.
“No, before all the nobles in Nereida.” The baron’s expression soured as he continued, “He is accompanied by a dozen of our former supporters along with another dozen of his own supporters.”
Celena glanced at him and the duke, then quickly turned back to the baron. “I see. We should not keep him waiting too long. Your grace, would you be my escort?”
The duke bowed. “Of course, your grace.”
Brand kept his expression blank as Celena placed her hand atop Glenrowan’s arm, and they left the room with Baron Halbert trailing in their wake. He followed them only long enough to assure himself that the guards were in their places before he turned down a different hall. His pace quickened as he made his way out of the palace. Vainlyn’s arrival was far too convenient. He was making a show and that boded ill for Celena.
As soon as he left the palace, Brand started running for the stables. His side pulled in silent protest, but he ignored it. If he did not get to Vainlyn’s house fast enough, it might be too late.
* * *
The council chamber was filled with more men than at any time since the lords first began losing faith in her. Yet, an eerie silence hung over the room as though all within were holding their collective breath. Eyes darted to them when Celena walked in with the duke and Baron Halbert, but no sounds greeted them, not even a whisper. Kester and Adred were standing in front of their chairs, their eyes focused not on her but on the man in the center of the room.
The Earl of Vainlyn’s lips quirked into what could have been a smile if his hard brown eyes did not glint like a drake poised to lunge. His mockingly congenial greeting only added to the tension in the room as he offered the tiniest of nods. “How wonderful of you to join us, my dear. And you as well, Glenrowan.”
Celena raised her chin as she met his glittering gaze. “Vainlyn. Why have you come here? You insisted on an audience before all the nobles yet remaining in Nereida. I can only assume this would be of some importance since you do not strike me as a man who indulges in frivolities.”
He bared his teeth at her, still pretending to be congenial, as he responded, “You honor me with your high opinion, my dear.”
“You are avoiding the question,” Count Kester snapped. “What is it you want? Unless you have come to forfeit your claim to the throne, there is no reason for you to be here.”
The mask slipped and Vainlyn sneered at the count. “Watch your words, Kester, or you’ll regret them before the executioner.” He looked around at the gathered nobles as he continued, “I did not come here to forfeit my claim to the throne nor will I ever agree to do so, especially in light of what I have learned about this imposter who thinks she can rule a country. Information that all of you will agree proves not only her utter unworthiness, but the incompetent desperation of the old guard leaders who dared to bring this woman forward as a claimant. This woman has been practicing black magic.”
Shouts of rage and disbelief filled the room, but Celena refused to crumble. When the earl turned his triumphant sneer on her, she met his gaze steadily. She held his stare as Kester shouted for order. When the chaotic turmoil finally died to tense whispers, she still met Vainlyn’s gaze. She kept her voice calm yet firm as she responded, “I have never practiced black magic. And, if this is what you come to say, my lord, then I find you are reaching out like a drowning man to find anything that would give you legal grounds for my removal. Because you know that you are not the right claimant to sit on the throne and that is because you do not care about the people, only power.”
The whispers grew in volume, but Vainlyn only smirked. “You say no magic was involved in your presence here. Yet, how are you the lost duchess if that is the truth? You are far too young and beautiful to be someone who was said to sleep one hundred years. Unless magic was involved.”
Celena raised her chin slightly as she said, “Magic was involved, but it was not by my hand. I was cursed to sleep these past one hundred years, which is how I came to be here and how I am who I say I am.”
“A curse? To lengthen your life a full century? Or perhaps the truth is that your lifespan is truly that of a dragon’s because you are in fact a dragoness.”
“Were I a dragoness, my lord, I feel certain you would have seen smoke well before this day,” she countered. “I am not a dragoness. I was cursed by one and that unfortunate circumstance is not a crime under Aneirin law.”
“So you say,” Vainlyn sneered. “Yet, I find it far more believable that you are indeed a dragoness or perhaps a dragon lover granted foul magics to sow chaos or even transform our fair Aneirin into a haven for more of your vile kin. That is far more likely than to believe a dragoness cursed you to sleep for one hundred years.”
“Then, I fear you are underestimating the abilities granted to the dragons by Shaddai,” the Duke of Glenrowan interjected as calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “I recall hearing rumors from some of the merchant caravans, when they were able to safely cross Aneirin, about a noble in Talhaearn who was freed of a dragoness’ curse a little over two years past. If one can believe the tales of the nature of the curse, then sleeping untouched by time for one hundred years would be a small feat for a motivated dragon.”
“Have you been making bargains with dragons to know such things, Glenrowan?” Vainlyn spat. “Your secrets will be revealed soon enough but until then, you should stay out of this. Unless, of course, you wish to reveal what lies beneath that hood here and now.”
The duke folded his arms over his chest. “You sound like King Stephan now. Seeing dragons everywhere among his courtiers. Will you start checking all the nobility for scales?”
Vainlyn’s mouth clamped shut and his lips thinned. He jerked his attention away from the duke and looked around at his fellows while addressing Celena once more, “You claim to be cursed by a dragoness and that you have been freed of this same curse. Yet, I wonder if that is really true. Perhaps you were cursed. But, perhaps you were not and instead you have used black magics to tie your life and your apparent youth to an object.” Hard brown eyes bore into hers as he added, “A specific object even. A spindle perhaps?”
Celena did not dare look away from him even as her blood ran cold. He knew. He knew about the spindle’s hold over her. And . . . he was most probably the one who had it stolen from Brand.
* * *
Brand peered around the corner of a door and then slipped into the currently empty hall. He had left Pebbles a few streets over from Vainlyn’s house, but he knew time was against him. Whatever Vainlyn had planned in the palace would no doubt have something to do with the spindle. He searched three rooms to no avail and was forced to hide from a passing servant twice.
A sense of urgency and dread crept over him spurring him to hurry as much as he dared. He crept down another hall, just avoiding a young maid by slipping behind a tapestry. When her light steps faded into the distance, he cautiously resumed his search. He tried two doors that were locked and moved past them. If he could not find the spindle elsewhere, he would circle back to them.
The fifth door in the hall opened to more than an empty room. It had to be Vainlyn’s bookroom, but it was not the furniture that drew his attention. It was a man in front of the fireplace. Lord Mortimore stood poised before the crackling fire and in his hands, he held the spindle.
Horror and fury coursed through his veins. Brand slipped into the room and growled, “Traitor!”
Mortimore jumped, the spindle falling to the floor, and spun to face him. His heavy brows lowered, and his mouth turned down into a scowl. “You! Did Kester send you?”
“I do not serve Kester.” Brand did nothing to hide his contempt as he added, “So Vainlyn found your price, Mortimore. To spite Kester?”
Mortimore’s gaze darted to the spindle, and he bent to retrieve it. Brand threw himself at him, knocking him away from the fireplace, before he could toss the spindle into it. Mortimore’s beefy fist came up and struck him in the shoulder with enough force to knock him into the corner of the desk. Brand grunted but did not let go as he continued to wrestle with the man.
Mortimore reached for the spindle, but it was just out of reach. Brand struck the man in the face breaking his nose with a satisfying crack. Mortimore bellowed an oath. He punched Brand again and this time he struck his wounded side. He struck thrice more in rapid succession causing Brand’s grip to slacken.
Brand gasped for air and then lunged for Mortimore again, but he was too late. Mortimore grabbed the spindle and flung it toward the fireplace. It landed in the hot flames.
“No!” Releasing Mortimore, Brand scrambled to the fireplace. He dragged the spindle out with a poker, but the flames had already scorched the wood. He frantically smothered the spindle with his hands, ignoring the pain as heat from the lingering flames pierced his gloves. The door slammed behind Mortimore as he escaped the bookroom, alerting Brand to another danger. It was not enough to distract him from the terrifying sight of the cracked and ashy spindle. There was a cloth draped on a corner of the desk, its purple fabric embroidered with Vainlyn’s seal. Brand took it and carefully wrapped it around the damaged spindle, fearing to touch it directly and cause even further damage.
He could not hear Mortimore raising the alarm and he did not trust the man not to try to rouse whatever guards were still in Vainlyn’s house. He dared not risk the spindle becoming further damaged or, worse, broken. Cradling the spindle to his chest, Brand slipped out of the bookroom and ran back down the hall. He heard a startled shout from behind and then he dodged around a pair of screaming maids. He ran faster until he reached the room where he came in. Once there, he paused only long enough to drag a chair in front of the door and jam it under the door handle.
He tucked the wrapped spindle inside his jerkin and climbed out the window. He could hear more shouts inside the house, but no one had circled around to the rear. Not wasting any time, Brand started running as soon as his boots touched the ground. He slipped by the stables and then darted out the gate into the street.
His side pulled, and his breathing was labored. If he was not bleeding, he was most certainly bruised. But that was not what worried him. All he could think of was Celena, of making sure she was all right. She had said her life was tied to the spindle, but he had pulled it from the fire before it could be destroyed completely. Surely that was enough. Please, Shaddai, let that be enough.
Pebbles snorted and tossed his head when Brand ran up to him, but he did not shy away. Hauling himself into the saddle, a hissed groan escaped him as his ribs and side protested in unison. He forced himself to sit tall in the saddle. Then, he tapped Pebbles’ sides with his heels and let the charger have his head. They galloped up the winding streets leaping over obstacles and forcing people to clear a path.
Brand urged Pebbles onward, not slowing even when they passed through the palace gates. The horse skidded to a stop in front of the stairs leading into the palace, and Brand flung himself from his back. He raced up the stairs and through the halls, shouting for servant and noble alike to move whenever they threatened to slow his progress.
He had nearly reached the hall that led to Celena’s private chamber when his steps faltered and slowed. The Duke of Glenrowan was marching toward him. In his arms, he carried an unconscious Celena. She was almost as pale as she had been when he first found her in the tower.
Brand stared at her face searching for some sign of life. She was so very pale and her breathing so shallow it was easy to miss. He looked at the duke. “What happened?”
“Vainlyn accused her of black magic. She collapsed ten minutes ago. It took me this long to extract her from the drakes. Did you find it?”
“Yes.” The word should have been a victory, but it rang hollow. Brand dropped his gaze to her too still features again. “Mortimore threw it in the fire before I could stop him. It was . . . damaged.”
He opened the door and followed the duke in, biting back the urge to snap at him for no reason whatsoever as the man laid Celena on her bed. The duke held out a hand to him. “Let me see the spindle.”
Brand pulled the wrapped spindle out of his jerkin and handed it to the duke. He could not bring himself to watch the spindle being unwrapped. Instead, he went to the bed. Unable to resist the need to confirm it for himself, he took her wrist between his fingers. Her pulse was slow, but it was there. Yet, her breathing was equally slow. Her skin was not cold as it had been in the tower, but it was cooler than it ought to be. He had done this to her. He had failed her.
* * *
Her skin was cold, almost like ice, and her breaths were increasingly difficult to detect. Brand sat in a chair, arms folded across his chest and head bent, waiting for something to change. Praying for something to change.
It had been three days. Three days of healers who exchanged baffled looks and hurried whispers. They had tried nearly every remedy they knew of to rouse an unconscious patient, but there was still no change for the better. The only other visitors since Celena’s collapse had been her maid, Anna, and the duke on the first day.
Brand looked up when two healers scurried into the room. One of them was looking nervously over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Brand frowned to see Kester in the doorway. The count was glaring at the bed and its occupant with a hardness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The nervous healer, a stork-like man all skin and bones, placed a bowl on the coverlet beside Celena’s left wrist. He whispered something to his companion, a stoic looking woman, that Brand could not quite make out and then she took Celena’s arm and positioned her wrist over the bowl. The stork of a healer drew a small knife from his belt.
The stork let out a squawk when Brand lunged out of his chair and caught his wrist before he could cut Celena. His eyes widened as he looked up at him. Brand shoved the man away, then glared at the woman until she released Celena’s arm and stepped back from the bed. “Get out.”
“The healers say this is the only way left,” Kester stated.
The lack of emotion in his voice set Brand’s teeth on edge. Clenching his fists, he met the count’s hard gaze. “I’ve seen enough battle to know that bleeding someone who is unconscious has never done anything except weaken them further. And, I will be damned if I allow you to do that to her.”
“Stand down, Captain, and allow the healers to do what they think best. Unless you have training in the healing arts.”
Brand did not move save to place his hand on his dagger. Still holding the count’s gaze, he asked, “Did the two of you bring this solution to the count?”
As soon as the stork’s eyes darted toward Kester, he knew the truth. His grip on his dagger tightened as he stated firmly, “All three of you will leave. Now.”
“You have no authority to give such an order.”
“On the contrary, as the captain of the duchess’ personal guard, I am obligated to stop and prevent any potential threats to her life.”
Kester sneered. “And, you think I am such a threat? I have merely urged the healers to take whatever means are necessary to see the duchess returned to health. Vainlyn would have put her down by now.”
Brand shifted his stance as his voice darkened. “I know you are a threat. You urged them to bleed her and if she were to die because of it, I have no doubt you would produce a document claiming she appointed you heir. How long did you wait to forge it? The first day? Or have you been holding on to it since you pushed her into agreeing to be a claimant?”
The count’s expression smoothed and he tsked before replying, “Captain, try to control yourself. Your devotion to the duchess, while admirable, is clearly causing you to lose too much sleep if you are imagining conspiracies among her truest allies.” He gestured to the stork as he added, “Perhaps the healers can provide you with a sleeping potion so you may rest. I am certain the maid and healers will be able to keep sufficient watch while you do so.”
“I think not, my lord,” Brand retorted. He turned his glare on the two healers as he continued, “If you attempt to bleed her again or to drug me, you will be the ones in need of a healer.”
“There is no need to make threats, Captain,” Kester blustered.
Brand met his gaze steadily as he replied with quiet firmness, “I am not threatening. I am making a promise.”
The stork quailed and even his stoic companion looked at Kester with uncertainty in her eyes. The healers edged away from the bed and then slipped by Kester to make their escape. Brand raised his brows at the count, but he only glared in return. “Captain, I am beginning to think you should be replaced as the head of the duchess’ personal guard. Your decisions have been compromised by paranoia and loss of sleep. You are not thinking clearly.”
Brand kept his voice mild despite the urge to shout at the boor. “I am inclined to think you will find it quite difficult to appoint a new captain over the duchess’ guard. I chose the men currently serving and they are well aware of which noble we answer to as far as such changes are concerned. I am very much afraid that noble is not you but the duchess. Since she is not currently in a position to dismiss me, I am afraid I must proceed as I am.” He offered a joyless smile as he added, “After all, I am certain you would not want to distress the duchess when she recovers only to find her chosen captain missing or replaced. Correct?”
Kester’s hand curled into a fist and then relaxed before he offered the tiniest nod. “Of course, Captain. If the duchess recovers—”
“When,” Brand interjected mildly.
Kester’s eyelid twitched and then he continued, “When she recovers, the rest of the old guard and I would want nothing more than her full comfort. I am surprised you would doubt us.”
Brand offered a little shrug. “I fear I have become a skeptic in the years since the Earl of Ernost fell in battle.”
“Fortunately, the duchess will not be required to lead troops on the field of battle.” The count glanced at her still form once more making Brand’s entire being yearn to block her from his sight. Then, he nodded to Brand. “Do continue your watch, Captain.”
He did not relax until the count left the room and he was able to close the door behind him. Only then did he expel his breath. He turned back to Celena and scowled at the bowl. He strode to the bed and gently grasped her cool unresponsive fingers. He pulled the bowl out from under her wrist before placing her hand back down on the coverlet. He did not let go right away. Giving her fingers a light squeeze, he whispered, “I will stay with you for as long as you need me. I promise.”
* * *
Brand was resting his forehead against his clasped hands when he heard the door open. He straightened in his chair, ready to throw the healers out if they had come to attempt a bleeding again, but he was greeted by the sight of the Duke of Glenrowan instead. The duke strode toward the bed, offered a slight bow, and then waved for Brand to join him. Keeping his voice low, the duke asked, “Did Kester come earlier?”
“He did.” Brand hesitated before adding, “I managed to stop him from having her bled.”
“Bleeding would certainly only worsen her condition.” The duke glanced at the bed and then continued softly, “The rumors have grown worse. There is more talk of black magics and unfinished curses. There are also growing rumors that the duchess is not the true duchess, that she was plucked out of a backwater village and groomed by the old guard to impersonate a legend in order to keep the throne from Vainlyn.”
Brand blew out a breath. “How much time do we have?”
“Not as much as we would hope,” the duke stated grimly. He glanced at the bed again. “If Celena does not wake soon, I fear Vainlyn will win everything he desired. Should that occur before she fades, I will allow you to hide her on my lands.”
“What if moving her is too dangerous? That could kill her before the curse.”
“If Vainlyn is able to sway the rest of the council, moving her will be the least dangerous obstacle to her recovery.” The duke paused and then added, “Unless you know how to break this curse.”
He shook his head. “No. That . . . That is the one secret she kept to herself.”
“Or she was not allowed to speak of it,” the duke mused.
Brand kept silent, but his own thoughts offered a far different explanation. Perhaps she knew she would not be able to trust me to keep her secrets.
“You should go to the selkies,” he said abruptly. “Their magic is different from a dragon’s, and they do not dabble in curses nearly as much but perhaps they could do something. Celena made a law to protect them. Perhaps they will return the favor because we both know that Vainlyn does not care for any who are not of the human race . . . and he barely cares for his fellow humans.”
“You think we could find a selkie who would be willing to help,” Brand repeated, not bothering to conceal his doubt. If they were going to help, would not they have presented themselves already? But, he did not voice that question.
The duke shrugged. “I do not know. The only other option for dealing with a dragon curse is to find a dragon. Finding one willing to not only leave the Burnt Lands, but also help a human in the aftermath of the dragon wars will take far too long. If it is even possible.”
Brand glanced out the window. It was nearly sunset. He looked again at Celena. Her still form and her terribly pale face. “Will you guard her for a little while?”
“Yes.”
He offered a nod of thanks and strode from the room. His feet carried him out of the palace and down to the beach even as his mind spun forming and rejecting pleas for aid. The dull roar of the sea grew louder as his boots touched the sand. He ran down the beach to the point where it met the sea wall before he searched in the other direction. He did not see anyone nor did he see any seals on the beach or playing in the surf. Please, Shaddai. I just need to find one.
His steps slowed as he entered a cove. But, it too was empty. Brand’s fists clenched, and he bit back a harsh curse. If the selkies were not here, then he would need to take Pebbles and ride down the shoreline. He could not search as far as the Belfarad border and the tidal pools, though. It would take too much time. But, he had to try. For Celena’s sake, he had to try.
He started running back up the beach when he heard a shout, “Wait!”
Brand stopped still nearly stumbling as he did so. When he turned, there was a man and a woman standing in the surf. He recognized the man as the selkie called Malik. The woman beside him was short with dark red hair and she was rapidly approaching. As she came closer, he could see her wide green eyes were filled with concern. “Why is Nereida filled with rumors that Celena has fallen victim to another curse?”
“How do you know of the rumors?”
The woman waved her hand dismissively. “We went to see if the market had been restored and all we found were rumors. None of which boded well for Celena. What has happened?”
Brand presented the shortened version of the tale as quickly as he could. When he finished, he looked from Malik to the woman and asked, “Is there anything you can do? Selkies have magic. Can you not use it to free her?”
The woman shook her head. “No. I am afraid that our water magic is not such that we can break a dragon’s curse without following the guidelines. I would send for my sister the healer but if what you say is true and Celena’s collapse was caused by the cursed spindle, then even she could not provide any relief.”
“Why?”
“Dragons and selkies have very different magics,” Malik stated. “And curses are such that they tend to resist other magics.”
“There is also the fact that humans are the least protected from such curses because your race lacks any magic ability,” the woman added. She hesitated and exchanged a look with Malik before she said softly, “There may be something we could do.”
“Anything you think would help. Anything at all would be helpful,” Brand said. He looked between the two selkies then added, “Whatever the price I will gladly pay it.”
The woman shook her head even as Malik frowned. “We will not accept payment for this. If Naia believes there is something to help, you may trust her.”
Naia placed a hand on Malik’s arm, but her focus was on Brand. “In my gardens, I have kept many lander herbs. Some from every one of the Five Kingdoms. Among these is an herb that was meant to combat the effects of dragon curses, at least enough to ease the symptoms until the curse could be broken. I like Celena and I am also indebted to you for saving my daughter, so I will give this herb to you.” She hesitated before adding, “However, I must warn you, Brand, that this herb will not save her. It will only provide her a little more time if it is not already too late.”
“Anything is better than nothing.”
“It would go better if you found a way to break the curse,” Naia warned.
“Or found a dragon,” Malik added.
Naia nodded. “This is true. Some dragons were said to be among the greatest healers among all the great races, a few were rumored to even be able to break curses.” Her expression grew distant . . . and sad. “But that was before the wars.”
Brand’s heart sank even as he admitted, “It is impossible. I have only heard of one rumored dragon in the Five Kingdoms, and he did not sound the type to aid any human.” He raised his eyes to the setting sun and said softly, “The dragons were driven from the Five Kingdoms long ago . . . and now we suffer because of it.”
* * *
Brand’s steps slowed as he neared Celena’s door. It had been four days since he spoke with Malik and Naia. Four days since he had forced Kester out. Four days of watching her continue to fade until she seemed closer to death’s gate.
The herbs from Naia’s garden had arrived by the hand of another selkie. One who mentioned only Malik and Naia had created a relay between their home and Nereida to bring the herbs faster. But, it had done no good. When the healers followed the instructions Naia had included and created the potion, he had hoped. He had stayed by Celena’s bedside for two days and nights waiting for something. A change, an improvement, anything. But, nothing had changed . . . at least not for the better.
He slipped into the room and stayed by the door when he saw Anna hovering over the bed. The maid was smoothing the coverlet’s edges. Brand’s breath caught in his throat when she straightened, and he saw she had placed Celena’s hands over her stomach, the resin coated silver rose lying beneath them. Anna swiped at her cheek . . . wiping away a tear he realized. She looked up at him and blushed. “I found it lying on the floor by her wardrobe. I thought . . . I thought she might like to have it.”
Brand nodded. “I think you are correct.” As she offered a tiny curtsey then moved past him he added softly, “Thank you for staying with her, Anna.”
The maid paused in front of the door. “I know why I was assigned to serve the duchess. She has been kinder to me than I deserved. I will tell the countess that the duchess remains as she had been, sleeping but strong.”
“Thank you, Anna.”
When the door shut behind the maid, he finally approached the bed. Celena looked . . . peaceful. Much as she had when he found her sleeping in the tower. Brand touched her hand. She was so cold to the touch, so very cold.
The weight of his failure slammed onto his shoulders driving him to his knees. He bowed his head, pressing his brow against the coverlet, as he breathed, “I am so sorry, Celena. I failed you. I failed you again and again. If I could find a dragon, I would risk its fire to beg its help. But there have been no sightings, no rumors, nothing I can act on to find a dragon. I thought the selkies . . . But that failed too.”
He closed his eyes remembering the way she had gazed up at him in the gardens. The moon and starlight shining over her hair turning it from silver blonde to softly glowing white while her silver eyes shone with such emotion. As she whispered that she did not love the Duke of Glenrowan. The feel of her lips against his, and the ache he had felt when he forced himself to step away from her warmth.
Brand shoved himself up, gaining his feet, but he could not force himself to leave. Not yet. He reached out and gently stroked her too cold cheek with the back of his fingers. He whispered quietly, “I am sorry, Celena. You deserve much more. I do love you.”
He bent and pressed a kiss to her cool lips.
When he straightened, the sense of being watched crept over him. He spun toward the door. The Duke of Glenrowan was standing just inside the room. He said nothing, but Brand still backed away from the bed.
He had to get out of there. Maybe one of the scholars had found more information about dragon curses. He nodded to the duke as he walked past him, but the duke’s hand clamped down on his arm keeping him from leaving. Brand stared at the hooded man only for him to nod toward the bed.
Brand turned. Celena was sitting up, the preserved silver rose falling into her lap as she pressed a hand to her temple. He sensed the duke’s gaze but he could not step forward. He could not even speak.
He loved her, yes, but she needed to marry the duke. He could not step forward. He shook his head and stepped back ignoring the pull on his arm as he did so. After half a heartbeat, the duke released him as he approached the bed and bowed deeply. “Welcome back, your grace. We are relieved to have you with us again.”
* * *
Celena pressed a hand against her temple. Her head was pounding as though she had been battered by a storm while bobbing in a too small boat. She peered at the duke and then at Brand whose back was practically pressed against the door. Turning back to the duke, she swallowed hard before whispering hoarsely, “What happened?”
Her mind was a muddle. She could remember being in the council room. She remembered Vainlyn’s speech. He had . . . He had mentioned the spindle. “What happened with Vainlyn? The spindle?”
The duke handed her a cup of tepid water and it was more than enough to provide sweet relief to her parched throat. She could feel his gaze on her, but his voice was as calm and steady as ever as he said, “Vainlyn accused you have tying your life and youth to a spindle. Then you collapsed. I was able to eventually get you out of the council chamber, and I brought you here.”
“The spindle was . . .”
“Suffered damage when Lord Mortimore tossed it into a fire before Brand was able to rescue it.”
She glanced from him to Brand who bowed his head and did not speak. The curse was broken, which meant . . . “How long? How long was I asleep this time?”
“A sennight.”
“It is better than a century,” she whispered more to herself than to the two men. She looked again at Brand wondering if he had . . . But he would not look at her. He kept his gaze down toward the floor save for when he had glanced at her with such . . . sorrow. But why? Surely, he had been the one who had woken her. She loved him and . . .
She looked from Brand to the duke, then back to Brand. Had he not been the one to wake her up? It was the only thing that made sense unless the duke had . . . No, he could not have been the one since she did not love him. Yet, it was the Duke of Glenrowan who had been standing by her bed when she opened her eyes and he had yet to move away. Brand had been on the other side of the room, nearly as far away from her as he could manage without actually leaving. But the dragoness had said . . . Celena rubbed her brow as she remembered the dragoness’ words. “. . . only a kiss of truest love shall free you from both sleep and curse.” She had not said it would be Celena’s love to break the curse. She had only said the one who kissed her needed to truly love her in order to free her from the curse in its entirety. Which meant . . .
She looked from Brand to the duke, but the question would not form. Both men were silent as though they were waiting for her to say something, to ask the question that would seal all doubt. She could not force the words past her lips. She was too afraid of the answer.
Celena rubbed her temple again. Her head ached horribly. She could hardly complain due to the relief of being able to feel the pain. She took another drink of water, using the time to gather her thoughts. “You said I was asleep for a sennight.”
“Yes,” came the steady reply.
Dread washed over her, her grip on the cup tightening, as she asked, “What has Vainlyn done?”
“He meets with the nobles today. They are to assemble in an hour’s time. I have no doubt that Vainlyn intends to make an aggressive move against your remaining supporters.”
She could not ask about the kiss now. There was something far more important to attend. She nodded. “Yes, I understand. We have little time to stop him.” She glanced at Brand. “Would you send Anna to help me change?”
He bowed. “Of course, your grace. She will be much relieved to learn you are awake.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Turning back to the duke, she drew a breath before stating, “Vainlyn knew about the spindle. We must turn that into his weakness, not mine. Do you still have it?”
“I do.”
“Good. If you would fetch it, I wish to have it with us when we join this assembly of nobles.”
“As you wish, your grace,” the duke murmured. But she thought she detected a hint of approval in his calm voice. Shaddai willing, this plan would work or she feared all Aneirin would pay for her mistake.
* * *
Celena smoothed her hands over her pale silver gown as she studied her reflection in the polished mirror. The gown’s light, crisp silk, sheer sleeves did not quite reach past her elbows and the wide bands of beading along the neck and down the front was both foreign and familiar. The height of blended selkie and Aneirin fashion for the court in her time looked so different compared to the more austere and heavy fashions followed by the current court. Her silver blonde hair hung loose down her back, unadorned. She looked much as she had on her twenty-fifth birthday . . . save for the fact that had been a century ago.
“You look like a queen, my lady.”
She glanced at her lady’s maid and managed a small smile. “Thank you, Anna.” A sigh escaped her as she glanced at her reflection once more, adding in a low murmur, “Let us pray that my appearance proves an asset and not a hindrance to this meeting.”
There was a tap on the door and Anna hurried to open it. Celena’s heart gave a little leap only to fall when only the Duke of Glenrowan met her gaze. He bowed. “Well done, your grace. They will not fail to notice you now.”
She forced herself to give a little smile. “That is my intent.” As she took his arm and they began walking, she asked in an undertone, “Where did Brand go?”
“He said he wanted to make sure all your allies were present.”
She frowned at that. Brand running off to check on her allies was . . . unexpected. Perhaps he decided it was better to wait in front of the council room. She glanced up at the duke but he faced straight ahead and his features were hidden by his hood. The question burned on her lips and when she finally opened her mouth, it was not what slipped out. “Have you the spindle, my lord?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed hard, nodding. “Good. That is good.”
She felt the duke’s eyes on her, but he said nothing. She did not look up at him or say another word as they made their way to the council chamber. She did, however, note the expressions of shock and either joy or in some cases fear on the faces of those who noticed their passing. The servants for the most part looked pleased as they bowed or curtseyed when the shock faded enough for them to react. The soldiers wearing old guard colors saluted while the noblewomen looked at her aghast.
Celena kept her head high as she and the duke walked. When they turned down the corridor leading to the council chamber, she saw several men attired in colors that belonged to Vainlyn or his cohorts. They stared at her with shock, fear, and then revulsion. A few of them attempted to turn and run toward the council chamber only to stop short when confronted by the Duke of Glenrowan’s men as well as her own guard.
When they reached the doors, Glenrowan looked down at her and asked softly, “Are you ready?”
She offered an elegant nod as she released his arm in favor of clasping her hands in front of her. “Let us proceed.”
The duke gestured, and two guards leapt to throw the doors open. The buzz of voices turned to silence as though they had been cut by a sharp blade. Celena kept her head high as she allowed her hands to fall by her sides and she glided into the room. Noblemen with slack jaws and bewildered expressions fell back at her approach, parting like the tide leaving the beach to expose a clear path to where Vainlyn and the three leaders of the old guard stood. He and Kester were standing so close together that it was clear they had been in a shouting match again, and they both stared at her with like expressions of shock.
Vainlyn was the first to recover. He turned to face her and pointed at her accusingly. “You need no further proof than what you see now! The woman was knocking at death’s gate and yet here she stands. It can only be the work of black magics! Summon the guards and arrest the witch!”
Celena met his fierce glare coolly as she responded, “You have grown delusional in your desperation, my lord. It is true I fell ill, and I required rest for this past sennight. However, allow me to assure you and the rest of those gathered here that I am much improved now.”
“You are a sorceress,” Vainlyn snapped. “You bound your life or even your appearance to a spindle through your foul arts.”
“A spindle?” she repeated softly. “I see, and you know this how?”
“It was brought to me and my man damaged it, which is why you collapsed a sennight ago. It was not illness that laid you low, but the damage to your spell.”
Celena allowed her lips to curve into a smile for only a moment as she gestured to the duke. “My lord Glenrowan, would you present the spindle?”
“At once, your grace.”
The rush of whispers told her he had unwrapped the spindle from the cloth Brand had originally covered it with and more than a few of the watching nobles recognized the colors and seal as Vainlyn’s. Vainlyn’s hard brown gaze glittered with fury as his attention snapped to the damaged spindle. He lunged forward, snatching the spindle up in one hand. His gaze flitted back to her, still filled with rage and hate, as he sneered. “I can only hope this will turn you to dust as well.”
The spiteful words had only just left his lips when he broke the spindle, crumbling the ashy wood to pieces and then grinding them beneath his boot. Celena’s heartbeat slowed slightly as nothing happened. She did not even feel a twinge. If anything, she felt relief. The curse was truly broken. She was free . . . truly and completely free.
A smile curved her lips despite her best efforts to restrain it as she looked at the remains of the spindle. When she met Vainlyn’s gaze, she said, “I fear that whatever hold you believed that spindle had over me is long gone, my lord. Perhaps now you will give up this foolish quest to declare me a sorceress.”
The earl’s expression mottled, and he never looked more unlike Brand than when he spat at her just missing her skirts. “You are a witch! You are an unnatural witch. You will never sit on the throne of Aneirin! I forbid it!” When no shouts echoed his, he glared around at the assembled nobles. “Are you blind? This woman is an imposter! She may even be a dragoness! Summon the guards and toss her in the dungeons!” Still no one moved, and he cursed. “Fools! Why do you not move? Do you want a witch on the throne?”
“Of course not,” Glenrowan interjected. “However, we do want you to be silent.”
He grabbed Vainlyn by the arms, keeping him from doing anything else, and then nodded to two of his men including the Kushite . . . Abasi. She remembered his name was Abasi. The duke thrust the still protesting Vainlyn toward them. “Take him out of the way and gag him if he refuses to be silent.”
Abasi and his comrade took hold of the earl and drug him toward the back of the room. Celena noted the earl had fallen silent almost as soon as the duke delivered his instructions. Taking advantage of the momentary stillness, Celena moved past Kester to stand before the assembled noblemen. All eyes were on her and even Kester seemed too stunned by the turn of events to begin attempting to interfere with her. Now was the time.
Celena looked around the room as her voice rose so all could hear her. “My lords, all of you have come to Nereida because you wanted an end to these long years of bloody conflict. It matters not if you were counted among the old guard or threw your support behind other claimants. All that matters is that you have all fought and yearned for an end to this war of succession. When you rode across your lands or passed over those of your neighbors’ or even as you entered Nereida herself, you no doubt saw what I saw. A land and a people who have been ravaged by war time and again until you have forgotten what it was like to truly be at peace. Have you children? Grandchildren? Brothers or sisters? Nieces or nephews? Do you wish to see this war swallow them too? To see another generation caught in conflict? I am certain that cannot be your wish, for none of us would willingly wish that on innocents.
“Nereida and all of Aneirin has suffered through the years of bloodshed and changing alliances and constant war. But there is still hope. We can bring peace to our land and our people before it is too late to spare the next generation.”
She looked around at the assembled nobles and continued, “My lords, now is the time. Now is when we must act and, in that action, decide whether we will fight each other or fight together to bring peace to Aneirin. I was not born to this war of succession. I was born when the dragon wars enveloped the Five Kingdoms and Aneirin was forced to take up arms. Yet, I saw the end of that same war. I saw what my cousin King Eric, son of Lear of the house of Armsterid, did to bring prosperity and trade back to Aneirin.
“When I was awakened from my cursed sleep, I did not set out to seek the throne. I sought only answers to what happened to the Aneirin I remembered. I was told I was the closest claimant left even though I was female, and I agreed to make this claim for one reason alone. It was not due to bloodlines or inheritance, for we all know that had this war of succession not winnowed out all the legitimate male heirs that I would have only pledged my support as the Duchess of Hilida not sought the throne. Aneirin is not Talhaearn. We do not share that kingdom’s rich history of ruling queens. In fact, I will be the first and, in all likelihood, the last ruling queen of Aneirin. It is how I much prefer Aneirin, for I would not break with tradition unless it were determined to be absolutely necessary. That absolute necessity faced me when I learned of the people’s plight. To continue being pawns in a bloody war of succession or to live at the nonexistent mercy of a tyrant.”
Celena paused for breath studying the room. Most of the men were watching her steadily, Kester and Adred looked displeased, but only Vainlyn and Lord Mortimore were casting her dark looks. “These are not titles I use lightly nor can any of us in this room pretend they do not belong at the Earl of Vainlyn’s feet when his actions during this war are known to all. Is that not how he coerced so many of you to support him? Through fear and threats? He wants the throne because of the power it gives him. That is not why I have made my claim. I made my claim for the sake of our people. A hundred years may pass, and the land may change but the people are the true life’s blood of Aneirin. I have no desire to see them suffer further hurts or be torn by continued war.
“It is in our power now to end this war once and for all, but it requires us to make a choice. Here and now. Who will you stand with?”
“You have no means to guarantee peace or even prosperity to Aneirin,” Vainlyn shouted from the back. “Why do you think Aneirin’s trade suffers? It is not the war alone. The very sea turned against us and only one or two ships out of every dozen returns with cargo. Most sink beneath the waves or are so damaged by storms they may not sail again for months or longer. How would you fix such a thing? Have you powers over the sea now?” He laughed, a mocking sound that grated on the ears. “You can no more bring about your precious peace between Aneirin and her neighbors than you can tame the sea.”
Before Celena could form an answer, the council chamber doors opened once more. The noblemen parted once more, this time looking almost as shocked as they had when Celena herself had appeared. Her concern turned to surprise when she saw the newcomers. Brand strode into the room and then stepped to the side allowing two others to enter. One a woman with deep red hair hanging loose over her bare shoulders and clad in a sleeveless green gown with a sheer beaded overskirt. Her pale skin was marked by delicately simple spirals running from her wrists to across her collarbones. Her slight stature only made her companion seem all the taller. The man’s thick dark hair and dusky skin sharpened the contrast between them. He was barefoot and clad in loose trousers and a leather vest that left the triangle-shaped marking spiraling up his left arm from wrist to shoulder plain to see. Even without the ivory torc inlaid with swirling taimana designs around his neck, Celena knew who he had to be.
She offered a slight curtesy to the pair as they approached. “Malik, Great Selkie of the Shining Waters clan, and Queen Naia. We are honored by your presence. How may I be of service?”
Naia’s wide eyes gleamed with pleasure as she said with a smile. “In truth, we have come to be of service to you, Duchess Celena.”
Malik bent his dark head, then pronounced solemnly and loud enough to be heard over the murmuring crowd, “As Great Selkie, I have come to pledge my clan’s support to Celena, daughter of the houses of Geraint and Armsterid, as queen of Aneirin. She alone of all the claimants since King Eric, son of Lear, fell has taken steps to honor and protect the selkies. We will return this honor in kind.” He leveled a hard look toward Count Kester and the Earl of Vainlyn as he added, “We have called for storms to sink the ships that fly under Vainlyn’s colors because he has made a habit of attempting to hunt our people even though we no longer visit Aneirin’s shores. Should Vainlyn be placed on the throne, we will continue to prevent Aneirin’s ships from safely returning to their home ports. There will be no peace between the selkies and Aneirin if Celena is not queen.”
When the Great Selkie and his queen took a stand by her side, Celena looked around the room. Men were murmuring, and she could see the indecision playing across many faces. Then her gaze fell on Brand. He looked up, meeting and holding her gaze for the first time since she had woken, and he gave the tiniest of nods. Celena took a small step forward as she spoke once more. “My lords, do not take the Great Selkie’s words today as a threat for I believe they are a promise. A promise of what will happen if I am queen and what will happen if Vainyln is crowned instead. Nereida and most of the coastal villages have suffered the wrath of the sea these many years in addition to languishing in this brutal and bloody war of succession with the rest of the country. This is our time. This is the moment when you are able to make a decision that will end the war with no further bloodshed. If you care even a little for your people, for your families, then you will choose to pledge your support today. I am ready and willing to be the ruler Aneirin needs in this moment, one who is dedicated to establishing peace and bringing back what has been lost due to the war. We can return Aneirin to her former strength. Together. Will you stand with me?”
A silence fell over the room. It seemed everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. Then, the Duke of Glenrowan stepped forward and bowed. “Hail, Queen Celena.”
The quiet solemn phrase was enough to spur the others. More bows and murmurs of ‘Queen Celena’ until only Lord Mortimore and the Earl of Vainlyn remained. Mortimore’s heavy brows were drawn down in a scowl and he resolutely turned his back on her, the wordless denunciation of a claimant. Celena nodded to the duke who gestured to his men. They released their hold on Vainlyn. The man glared around the room. “You are all fools. Years of blood shed to drive the foul races from the Five Kingdoms, and you throw it all away the moment seals come out of the sea to stand with this witch. The trade road eliminates the need for their so called aid and blessing.”
“But Aneirin’s lifeblood has always been the sea trade,” the duke countered. “Something you yourself mentioned not a little while ago. Unless your memory has turned untrustworthy these last few days.”
Something changed in the earl’s face. A cold fury revealed itself, and he lunged forward drawing a dagger as he did so. Brand tackled him before he could reach Celena, then the duke’s men helped drag the cursing earl to his feet. Brand turned to her. “What are your orders?”
“Take him to the dungeons until such a time as I am prepared to deal with him,” she said.
The men bowed their heads and then drug the earl out of the council chamber. She was not surprised to see Lord Mortimore scurrying after them. Though she doubted he was devoted enough to accompany his former comrade to the dungeons. As the doors closed behind them, muffling the sound of Vainlyn’s curses, Celena turned back to the rest of the nobles. As one they went down on their knees and pressed their left hands over their hearts as they shouted, “Hail Queen Celena!”
* * *
Celena already looked the part of a queen as she sat alone at the front of the council chamber, her silver gown shining in the sunlight filtering through the windows. Brand stayed in the shadows as he kept an eye on Counts Kester and Adred. The men wore identical sour expressions, as they had since they entered the chamber to find that their chairs had been moved to join the rest of the assembled lords. Baron Halbert had seemed almost relieved to find he no longer sat in prominence. It was a pity his comrades did not feel the same.
Brand had no doubt that the only reason Kester had not thrown a fit as soon as the change was discovered was due to the Duke of Glenrowan’s continued presence. The selkies had left with the promise of returning for the coronation. Now, the council debated what was truly required for the event to take place.
Count Kester stirred in his chair then leaned forward as he said, “Your grace, with respect to the strength of your stand today, the matter remains that you will be stronger if you declare a consort.”
“While I understand your concern, Count Kester, I feel it would be far better for me to wait to announce a consort until after I have been crowned,” Celena countered. “I do not want anyone to believe I will not be able to stand on my own as queen.”
Kester’s expression darkened but he kept his voice almost congenial as he soothed, “No one thinks you a puppet. However, the matter remains that you are a woman and if you do not name a consort before being declared queen, there will be concerns among the people about the stability of your reign.”
“One would think that the people would feel nothing but confidence in the woman who has secured not only the selkies’ promise of renewing our ancient alliance, but is also in the process of carrying out repairs and improvements to Nereida and the rest of the country’s trade,” the duke interjected. “Are you saying they will not greet these changes with as much enthusiasm as they greeted her declaration of protection for seals in Aneirin waters?”
Kester’s lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed at the hooded duke. He sounded a little terse to Brand’s ears as he retorted, “I would never say such a thing.”
“Then, you have no objection to crowning our queen regardless of whether she has chosen a consort?” the duke asked with deceptive calm.
Brand held his breath as he waited. It seemed the better part of an hour before the count offered a curt nod. “Since the duchess has yet to choose a consort, we can only elect to crown her before too much time passes.”
“I am relieved you agree,” the duke stated drily. He turned to Celena. “Your grace, with your permission, I would propose that your coronation be held as soon as possible. Within the fortnight.”
Kester’s expression soured once more as Celena inclined her head. “I agree, your grace.” She looked around the room as she addressed the gathered nobles, “My lords, when is the earliest we may hold a coronation?”
“In five days’ time, your grace,” Baron Halbert offered. “However, we would not have time to invite dignitaries from the other kingdoms. Well, save for Sir George of Cian Gwenith as he has not left yet.”
Celena offered a wry smile at that. “I fear, my lord, that Aneirin’s invitations will be better accepted when our neighbors see we are truly at peace once more.”
Brand studied her as the meeting continued, lords offering their services or the services of their houses for the coronation. She remained engaged and interacted with the council with far greater ease than when the old guard kept tightening their leash on her. He glanced at Kester’s sour expression and wondered how long it would take for him to try to once more recover his coveted role as kingmaker. For he doubted the count was ready to admit that he had miscalculated and the pawn he thought to sacrifice had survived to cross the board and take her crown.
His gaze drifted from Kester to the duke. He held back a frown as he realized that Kester and Adred could stir enough trouble for Celena that if she did not choose a consort or, worse, chose the wrong consort, she could lose the throne faster than she had gained it. Her reign would have far less turmoil if she wed the feared Duke of Glenrowan. His heart twisted painfully at the thought. But he could not escape its undeniable truth. Celena needed the Duke of Glenrowan at her side if she was to have a successful and, more importantly, peaceful reign.
* * *
Brand increased his stride as he entered the corridor leading to the duke’s quarters. The duke had changed quarters to one that he felt certain was empty of spies. Abasi was standing in the doorway of his own room and offered Brand a curt nod as he stopped in front of the duke’s door. Brand returned the gesture and then knocked. The duke called for him to enter.
The man stood in front of the the fireplace, cloak discarded though he kept his gloves on as well as the mask. “A message from the duchess?”
“No.”
When he did not say anything more, the duke mused, “Something is troubling you, Captain. What is it you wish to say?”
“You must not tell Celena that I am the one who woke her the second time.”
That made the duke look at him. His mouth turned down into a frown. “Why should I keep that from her?”
Because she has to marry you. But the thought was too bitter to speak. Brand dropped his gaze to his boots as he said, “Because Celena needs to focus on choosing the man she is going to marry, not her captain of the guard.”
“I do not love Glenrowan.” He forced the memory of her words away. He could not do it.
“I find that strange.”
“My lord?”
When he looked up, Glenrowan was watching him with hard eyes and a distinct frown still in place. “I find it strange that the man who confessed to loving the duchess and was able to break her curse would be unwilling to tell her the truth. Do you not love her?”
“Yes, I love her.” Brand clenched his fists as he forced the words out. “But I cannot say that to her. Just as I would not be able to say I love her if I refuse to allow her to choose a man who will be good for and to her. Her reign needs stability and a captain of the guard does not provide that, so I am asking you. No, I am begging you to keep your silence on this matter.”
When the duke did not respond right away, Brand seized the opportunity to escape. As he slipped out of the room, he could only pray the man would listen.
* * *
Celena closed her eyes as she felt the sea breeze against her cheeks. It had been a relief when the pavilion overlooking the sea had been declared fit for use by the master mason who had come to Nereida only the day before to estimate repairs for the sea wall as well as the rest of the city’s needs. A small table had been set up at the far end of the pavilion and a meal prepared. But this meal was of more import than anyone might guess. She opened her eyes and nodded to her companion.
The Duke of Glenrowan returned the nod. “You have my thanks for the invitation to share the noon meal with you, your grace, but should you not be tending to other matters?”
She looked past the duke, confirming that the servants had retreated to the opposite end of the pavilion and the guards hidden in the shadows cast by the magnificently carved columns were also far enough away that their conversation would not be easily overheard. Only then did she quietly respond, “If you refer to the counts, I have been keeping them busy. Once the coronation is over and done, I will finish tending to them.”
“Unless Kester forces the matter,” the duke murmured.
She offered a slight nod. Only that morning she had received a terse message from Count Kester instructing her that the old guard expected her arrangement with Glenrowan to be announced either at the coronation or earlier. It seemed the would-be kingmaker had yet to admit that his proposed pawn had slipped free of his clutches. Yet, it was also true that she needed to discuss the matter with Glenrowan. Ignoring Kester’s plots, it was the wisest match she could make for Aneirin’s sake. No matter how her heart ached at the thought of marrying anyone other than Brand.
Celena sipped her wine and then licked her lips. “Kester is a burr, but he shall be plucked soon enough. He is not why I asked you to join me today, however.” She offered a slight smile as she added, “Nor I fear was it for the pleasure of your company alone.”
“Ah, you have a request.”
She did not acknowledge that statement or the guardedness lying just beneath the surface of his polite tone. Setting her wine down, she folded her hands in her lap as she said, “When I first appealed to you for aid in my claim to the throne, I promised that your help would not go unrewarded. As it is, you have done far more to aid me than I ever would have imagined. I am in your debt, yes, but as one who would be honored to count you as a friend, I wish to know if there is anything I might be able to do for you or your people when I am crowned.”
The duke studied her for a long moment before he stated in a low voice, “You can leave Glenrowan in peace. I have been gone far too long as it is, and I have no wish to become involved in another succession crisis. They take too long to settle.”
Celena leaned back in her chair as she studied the man. She had expected . . . Well, she did not know what she had expected, but it certainly was not this. She toyed with her eating knife as she worked to gather her thoughts.
“You are offended.”
She shook her head. “No. Though I confess to surprise.” She looked up at him again as she stated candidly, “The old guard has been urging me to offer you the position of my consort . . . though it has been a most reluctant concession on their part since I am either too old or too young for their remaining eligible relatives. I confess, I had reconciled myself to the idea because it seemed the best way to cut their strings and you are the most powerful nobleman in Aneirin. If you wanted it, they would have given you the throne.”
The duke leaned back in his chair as he murmured, “They would have rebelled the moment they realized my true heritage.” The faint hint of amusement faded from his voice as he continued, “However, the fact of the matter is that I have neither the desire nor an interest in being so close to the throne. I have enough with the care and keep of my own people. I do not wish to add an entire kingdom to my charge. I will pledge my loyalty to you, but I do not wish to be bound so closely to the crown as will invariably be demanded of your consort.”
Celena rubbed her thumb over the butt of her eating knife as she realized something. “You do not love me.”
The duke’s face was shadowed by his hood, however, she could see his mouth twitch before he responded slowly, “I am afraid not.”
“Then, you were not the one who woke me.”
“No, I was not.”
Celena nodded. Setting her eating knife down, she picked up her wine and took another drink. Her mind was racing with possibilities and nearly enough to make her giddy, but she needed to focus on the matter at hand first. Feeling the duke’s eyes on her, she set her wine down. “You wish to be left alone with your people in your lands. I will grant this request and leave your lands in peace unless all of Aneirin has need of you. However, because of your own strength and standing among the nobles, I must make this freedom tangent on the fulfillment of one particular condition.”
The duke’s posture remained relaxed, but she sensed just a hint of caution lurking in his voice when he asked, “What is this condition?”
“I require you to marry within a year’s time of my coronation and that you choose a bride from among those houses with no royal ties. As you say, succession crises can be very messy and lengthy affairs. I wish to forestall any potential for discontented rebels gathering around Glenrowan because they imagine you may be swayed to their cause.”
The duke was silent for several long moments and she began to fear she had pushed too far. Then, he bowed his head. “I will adhere to this condition.”
Relief nearly made her sag in her chair, but she stayed upright. There was still another matter to discuss. First she needed to ask one thing. “Do you know who it was that is responsible for waking me this second time?”
“I have no doubt that you already know the answer to that question, your majesty.”
Hope bloomed bright and she smiled at him. “I am glad to hear it.” Forcing herself to remain where she was, she nodded to the food. “There is another thing I would ask of you, your grace. However, let us finish our meal before discussing it.”
* * *
What was Celena thinking? He did not know and he certainly did not understand why she had yet to announce her intent to marry Glenrowan. The coronation was only a day away. Yet, soldier and servant alike were gossiping about the duke ordering his men to be prepared to return home directly after the ceremony. It made no sense for him to leave so soon.
Unless they had decided that he would return to his holdings and wait for Celena to be established as queen for a little while before he began his courtship. Brand frowned as a new thought occurred to him. Had she decided to entertain foreign suitors instead? Sir George of Cian Gwenith came to mind, but Brand dismissed the too handsome knight. He was not the right sort for Celena, and he would send Kester and the others up in arms faster than any other.
No, she had to have chosen Glenrowan. They had taken meals together on the pavilion twice and no one else joined them. Nor were any of the servants near enough to overhear their conversations, which indicated it was a truly private discussion.
Brand stepped to the side as three maids passed by with their arms filled to overflowing with bedding. It seemed the servants had grown in their determination to put the royal wing to rights by the coronation. Not to mention the great hall.
He avoided another group of servants burdened with buckets, then turned down a less crowded hall. His wandering steps eventually led him to the hall of portraits where he stopped short at the sight of Celena gazing up at the painting of the founding of the Five Kingdoms. He considered slipping into the shadows to keep watch, but instead he found himself joining her. However, his gaze was not on the painting. It was on Celena’s upturned face. She looked more at peace than she had since coming to Nereida.
He forced his gaze back to the painting but stared without seeing as the words escaped him, “Am I to remain captain of your guard after your coronation?”
“Is that what you want?” He could feel her looking at him as she added, “I thought you would be planning to leave Aneirin as soon as you could after the coronation. Is that not what you wanted?”
“It was but now . . .” He trailed off wondering how he could dare to speak further, to tell her the truth. He certainly did not deserve the opportunity. Or to feel as he did.
“But now, Brand?”
He cleared his throat and kept his gaze fixed on the painting, afraid that he would reveal all if he looked at her. “But now, I find I would prefer to stay in Aneirin. That is, if you still want me as your captain of the guard or even as part of your guard after what happened with the spindle.”
“That was not your fault, Brand.” She touched his arm causing him to look down and become lost in her silver eyes, as she continued softly, “I already forgave you for what happened and I know the reason you spoke to Glenrowan was because you were trying to be prepared, trying to protect me. I do not hold that against you. Someone would have stumbled across the spindle eventually, and now I am free of its hold. It is of no matter.” She hesitated, looking almost uncertain, before she added, “Even if I were still under the threat of the spindle, I would entrust it back into your care without hesitation.”
Brand swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, but his tongue betrayed him. “Then, you still want me as captain of your guard?”
When she looked away, he almost begged her for the chance to stay in her guard. As much as it would hurt to see her with another man, he would not be able to rest easy if he was not able to keep watch over her. Then her soft voice carried to him. “It seems keeping you as captain of my guard would be a wise thing if you still wish to remain in my household.”
“Thank you, your grace.”
“However, . . .” She trailed off as she looked up at him, silver eyes shining with an emotion he could not put a name to, before she continued, “However, I was wondering if you might be willing to accept an additional position in my household.”
“In addition to being your captain of the guard, you mean,” he murmured.
She nodded.
“What is it? Wherever you need me, I will gladly serve.”
A faint smile curved her pink lips. “The position I have in mind is one of great important. Perhaps greater than captain of the guard.”
“What is it?”
“My consort.”
His breath left him in a rush as he stared into her silver eyes. He shook his head. “I . . . I cannot. I am not an acceptable choice for consort.”
He moved to leave but she caught his sleeve, rooting him to the spot, as she came around in front of him. She rested a hand on his chest as she stated firmly, “You are acceptable to me, Brand, son of Bard. And I know you love me as I do you or else I would be dead, not preparing for a coronation tomorrow. The dragoness was quite clear that only a kiss of truest love could ever free me from the curse completely. And, do not mention Glenrowan because he has made his lack of affection quite clear as well.”
Brand still hesitated. “Celena, you could choose any other man and he would be more acceptable than me. Except for Sir George. Choosing me will cause trouble, especially with Kester.”
She tightened her grip on his jerkin as she said, “I care not for Kester’s opinions. He has too many of them as it is. Nor do I care if the nobles try to object because I will fight for you, Brand, as you have already fought for me so many times.” She smiled up at him. “I love you.”
He should have argued further. He should have lied. Instead, he found that he could only return her smile. “I love you, Celena. I will gladly live the rest of my life serving as your captain of the guard and as your consort.”
Celena laughed as he pulled her close. Then, he bent his head and kissed. It was by far the sweetest they had shared.
When they broke apart, Brand chuckled. “I thought you were going to marry Glenrowan.”
“He does not want me and I do not want him,” she assured him. Her smile grew a little shy as she asked, “You do not mind marrying a woman a century older than you?”
Brand rocked back on his heels in mock consideration as he murmured, “Well I had always envisioned marrying a sweet young lass, but you’ve taught me to appreciate the charms of an older, more mature lady.”
She laughed again and pushed him, so he had to catch himself or fall over. “You scoundrel. I hope Pebbles tosses you into a water trough.”
He caught her in his arms and pulled her close, still chuckling. “See, you admit he’s a menace at last.”
“Oh never that, Brand,” she protested.
“One of these days, Celena, you will concede that he is a menace of a nag.” He kissed her hair and then her cheek as he added, “Yes, I do appreciate your more mature charms. Your air of wisdom is irresistible.”
* * *
“My lords, thank you for assembling so quickly this eve,” Celena said with a smile. “Tomorrow will be the coronation, and I wish to make an announcement. I have chosen my consort. I am pleased to share that he has accepted my hand.”
Her cheeks grew a little warm as she recalled his flirting, but she hoped they could not see her blush. As it was, Count Kester darted an accusatory glare at Glenrowan before he demanded, “What is the name of this man? We should know it before you commit to anything foolish.”
Her smile faded as she met Kester’s hard gaze. “I have chosen Brand, son of Bard, as my consort.”
The pronouncement was met with silence at first, then Count Adred shouted, “The captain of your guard?”
Kester’s expression darkened as he spat, “Unacceptable! You cannot choose a mere soldier. One who might have been a mercenary if rumor can be believed.” He pointed at her as he took a step forward and declared, “You must choose another!”
Adred shouted his support for the idea, but the murmuring lords seemed to be waiting for something else. Celena shook her head. “I will not choose another. I have chosen Brand and he has accepted.”
“You chose him because you’re a foolish woman besotted by the man you’ve been in closest company with since you were found,” Kester sneered.
“I trust Brand with my life and my heart, yes. However, I have many other reasons for choosing him. Brand has no grounds for a rival claim to my own so there is no fear that he will attempt to seize the throne. What’s more as a soldier, he will help me recognize threats before they grow too significant to handle without armed conflict instead of being preoccupied with court quarrels over nothing.” A smile curved her lips as she added, “Furthermore, the commoners will love him for not being born among the nobility. You could not ask for a better or stronger consort to stand by my side.”
“You care so much for the common folk,” Adred sneered. “What of us? The nobles who have granted you the throne?”
Celena’s smile vanished as she met Adred and Kester’s triumphant gazes. Her voice cooled as she stated, “You give yourself far too much credit, my lords. I am not now nor will I ever be your puppet. I do not have strings for you to pull on to guide me like a lost child to what you have deemed the correct course of action. I speak for myself and for Aneirin, not for you.”
Kester scowled. “My dear Celena, you have clearly grown too strained under the deadline for your coronation.”
“Do not speak to me as though I am a child too young to know my own mind or a simpleton who cannot grasp unspoken words, Kester.” She turned to Glenrowan as she said, “My lord duke, I believe it is time to reveal what we have learned.”
The duke offered a bow. “Of course.” He pulled out a scroll and opened it to read, “This is the testimony of Baron Halbert that Counts Kester and Adred have conspired to supersede the will and actions of Celena, presumptive Queen of Aneirin and Duchess of Hilida, in favor of their own will and actions. This includes the act of setting spies in the queen’s household while she was yet a duchess, keeping reports and information from her, and diverting her efforts to better Nereida and Aneirin as a whole.” He drew out another unopened scroll and held it in the air. “This contains testimony from no less than three servants in the queen’s household whose families were threatened so that they might spy on her majesty. Not to mention the testimony that Kester set himself up in the royal wing with the intent of making himself a kingmaker and turning our queen into a pawn he could maneuver at will. And, a forged document naming himself as the queen’s heir apparent should anything unfortunate happen to her before she has a child.”
“You cannot do this,” Kester breathed. “You have no authority to act in this manner. The old guard will draw their support from you.”
Celena met his gaze steadily as she quietly countered, “I am afraid the old guard is more likely to withdraw their support from you, Kester.”
As the two men looked around to find the nobles standing closest to them had either moved away or turned their backs on them, Celena rose from her chair. “Counts Kester and Adred, you will be removed from the queen’s council and sent to live in your keeps under watch after tomorrow’s coronation. Your children and grandchildren will be brought to Nereida where it will be determined whether they can be trusted or if they follow too closely in your footsteps. Any attempts to further undermine me or my house will bring far graver consequences down on you and your houses.”
The room was silent when she finished speaking and she nodded. “An armed escort will be assigned to you and your people for the duration of your stay in Nereida. After the coronation, I will personally introduce you to your new guardians.”
Kester and Adred thrust their way to the back of the room, but they did not leave just yet. As the rest of the noblemen turned to face her once more, Celena asked, “Are there any further objections or questions regarding my choice of consort?”
No one spoke a word.
Celena smiled. “I am glad. This meeting is adjourned, my lords. I trust I will see all of you tomorrow.”
* * *
Brand kept his expression bland as he waited for the meeting to end. He wanted nothing more than to pace or to drum his fingers against his sword’s hilt, but he forced himself to stay still hidden in the shadows. Celena had been confident when she summoned the nobles to the meeting even knowing Kester would likely put up a fight.
The doors opened, and Kester was the first out of the room with Adred fast on his heels. The two counts looked as though they had been forced to kiss a drake. Twice. They had not ventured far down the hall before a contingent of guards wearing Celena’s silver and pale blue closed in around them.
He resisted the curiosity that wanted to know what had happened. Instead, he focused on the nobles now leaving the council chamber. Some looked bewildered or uneasy but many looked . . . almost pleased.
More nobles filtered out of the council chamber, but Celena was not among their number. Finally, he spied the Duke of Glenrowan in his black cape and hood. When the duke looked around, he seemed to spy Brand despite his efforts to stay hidden. He motioned for Brand to go into the room.
Brand only waited for the duke to resume walking before he slipped from his hiding place. He crossed the threshold of the council chamber dreading the worst possible outcome. Celena was standing with her back to him studying one of the tapestries that had been hung in the room in the past few days.
He stopped a few paces away as he broke the silence. “Celena? What happened?”
“Kester and Adred objected as we knew they would,” came the soft reply.
“And the others?”
“The others . . .” She paused and then continued much more softly, “The others chose to stand with me.” She turned around, a smile lighting her face, as she added, “We won, Brand.”
Then she ran to him. He caught her up in his embrace and he let out a whoop as he spun her in circle. Celena’s laughter rang out in the empty room. Brand set her back on her feet and grinned down at her as he smoothed back her silver blonde hair. “I suppose this means I will need to dress in better clothes.”
She smiled up at him. “As long as your clothes are not falling apart or look as though you’ve been wrestling drakes all day, you may wear what you see fit.” She plucked at his jerkin as she added, “I think you will find that the royal family has great sway over the fashions at court. I greatly prefer the past to the future in that regard.”
He kissed her lightly and then chuckled. “I will greatly enjoy seeing the new trend of practical leather jerkins among this lot.”
* * *
Celena knelt in front of the priest of Shaddai. She was wearing her silver gown again, but it seemed more than appropriate in her opinion. She repeated the vows of the throne, to protect Aneirin, to stand firm against evil, and to rule with mercy and justice. The priest took the beautiful diadem of pale white seashells, silver beads, and beryls of the palest blues strung together on strands of white gold that Naia had brought and placed it on Celena’s head. The diadem was light yet its cool touch on her forehead carried with it the weight of her new station and duties.
The priest called on Shaddai’s blessing over her and then he helped her to rise once more. As Celena turned to face the crowded great hall, the priest called out, “May Shaddai cover your reign with justice, mercy, peace, and prosperity. Long live Queen Celena!”
“Long live Queen Celena!”
The cry echoed through the hall. Celena smiled as she raised her hands. When the shouting died down, she spoke. “People of Aneirin, lords and ladies, representatives of Cian Gwenith, Great Selkie and Queen Naia, I thank you for your support and for your attendance to this coronation. It is my dearest prayer that we will see peace restored not only to Aneirin and her closest allies but also throughout the Five Kingdoms. However, that is a journey no man or woman should face alone, which is why I am pleased to announce that I have chosen my consort.” She held her hand out to the shadows at her right. “Brand, son of Bard, will you not come pledge your life with mine?”
There was a pause, then Brand emerged from the shadows. His brown hair was still in need of a comb and his practical tunic and jerkin were slightly underdressed for the occasion. He raised his brows at her and she smiled. He was perfect just as he was and when he took her hand, she pulled him in front of the priest. Facing Brand, she smiled a little wider. “You have not changed your mind?”
He grinned. “Not yet.”
* * *
Only after the wedding ceremony did Celena nod to the guards waiting at the end of the great hall. Brand stood behind her, a comforting shadow at her left shoulder, as the doors were opened and the Earl of Vainlyn was marched into the room. The guards brought him in front of the dais and pushed him down on his knees. He glared at her.
Celena kept her expression serene as she spoke. “Eric Raglan, Earl of Vainlyn, you have acted with malice and without mercy against the majority of Aneirin as well as against myself. Under the law, your actions in Nereida alone and in the hiring of mercenaries to attack your neighbors would be more than enough to sentence you to exile or execution. However, I do not wish to begin my reign with further bloodshed. Therefore, I will extend this mercy to you. I will pardon you of your crimes against Aneirin on the condition that you swear an oath of fealty to me as your queen and you swear also that you will take no future actions that would stir unrest in Aneirin. What say you?”
For a moment she feared he would refuse her offer. Keeping an eye on Vainlyn would prove much easier if he remained in Aneirin instead of wandering through the other kingdoms. She would far prefer to keep him where she could reach him if he decided to stir up trouble. Much like the situation with Kester and Adred. And like the two counts, he would be watched very closely.
After several minutes of tense silence, the earl finally bowed his head. “I accept your mercy, your majesty. And . . . I thank you for it.”
Celena acknowledged his words with a nod, then she gestured for the guards to remove the manacles on his wrists. She felt Brand edge just the tiny bit closer as the restraints were removed. Vainlyn remained on his knees, however. The hardness in his gaze was tempered by curiosity and even calculation as he said, “I, Eric Raglan, Earl of Vainlyn, do hereby swear my fealty to her majesty, Celena of the houses of Geraint and Armsterid and queen of Aneirin. My sword, my lands, and my life are at her bidding. I will go where she directs and stay where she wills. May all present and Shaddai Himself stand as witness to my oath. Should I break from it, may my life be as one forfeited.”
“Rise, Earl of Vainlyn, and join us if you so wish,” Celena said.
The earl got to his feet, but he did not join the festivities. Instead, he offered a low bow. “Your generosity will not be forgotten, your majesty. However, I think it best I retire to my house and prepare to return to my lands.”
She nodded. “I wish you safe travels then.”
The earl offered another bow and then he left, the crowd falling back from him and no one looking at him directly. While she had extended mercy, it seemed the people of Aneirin would not soon forgive Vainlyn for his past injustices against them. Perhaps it would be enough to dissuade him from further troublemaking. A vain hope, indeed.
“Are you certain that was wise?” Brand’s whisper breathed warm against her skin.
She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Do not worry.” She lowered her voice a fraction as she continued, “Glenrowan has agreed to keep watch over him. Should anything occur that we need to know about, he will see that we hear of it.”
“And likely act against Vainlyn if he goes too far,” Brand muttered.
“That is essentially what he said when I assigned him the task,” she replied lightly. Smiling at her now husband, she slipped her hand into his. “Enough of this talk, though. We are celebrating tonight. Or do you not remember?”
Brand chuckled as he allowed her to pull him off the dais to join the crowd. Men bowed and women curtseyed as they moved into the area of the great hall that had been cleared for dancing. Music began, and Brand pulled her into the steps of a simple dance. She glimpsed the selkies standing by one of the tables laden with food and drink and laughed when she saw Naia was enthusiastically helping herself to the cheese wedges. The court would need to curtail its more extravagant expenses for a while but for tonight, they feasted and made merry with great hopes for the future.
* * *
Brand guided his blindfolded wife into their quarters. “No peeking,” he warned as he grasped her shoulders and moved her to the right by two paces.
Celena laughed. “How can I peek when you put two blindfolds over my eyes?”
“Well, one can never tell what tricks a lady with your life experience may know. Ow!” He rubbed his arm as he grumbled, “Do not pinch, woman!”
“How old am I, my dear husband?” she said far too sweetly for a woman whose pinch felt more like a nip from Pebbles.
“Six and twenty as of today.” He paused deliberately and then added in a rush, “Plus one hundred years that I’m no longer allowed to count because you napped through them all.”
She kicked at him that time, but he was able to dodge it. “You have been spending too much time in the stables with Pebbles. You’re turning as ornery as that capricious mule.”
“Do not pick on Pebbles,” she scolded. “Now are you going to take the blindfolds off or not?”
“Yes, yes. Patience, woman.” He cautiously grasped her by her hips and adjusted her stance just a hair. “Three months as queen—”
“It has only been two months, dear.”
“Has it?” He hummed for a moment as he slipped by her to uncover his find and then mused, “Oh. Yes, you’re right. Only two months. Must have been the reports about Kester that made it feel longer.”
“Brand,” she said laughingly. “What are you doing?”
“A moment, just one more moment. Two months as queen and you’ve lost all sense of patience. Not to mention sweetness.” He tugged off first one blindfold and then the other. His voice softening as he said, “Happy birthday, Celena.”
She stared at the gift. Then she slowly approached it. She touched the wheel and turned toward him, shock written across her face. “Is this my spinning wheel?”
“Yes, and I will have you know it was a complete horror to get on Pebbles’ back. Not to mention all the problems of getting it out of your tower. And on his back. He tried to bite me thrice, you know. Then, of course, I had to get it from your tower to here without someone blabbing about it to you. I had to get a cart, but not until after Pebbles brought it out of the woods. Then he probably convinced those mules to be just as ornery as he was since they both tried to bite me at least once a day.”
He cut himself off when Celena flung herself at him. She kissed him twice, laughing as she did so. “You are wonderful! I cannot believe you brought this to me!”
He grinned down at her. “So, I take it you like it?”
“I love it,” she assured him. She slipped from his arms far too soon in favor of running back to the spinning wheel. She ran her hands over it and laughed at the collection of wooden spindles.
Brand grinned. “Just in case.”
She laughed again and gave him a kiss. “I love you, Brand. Thank you.”
She flitted back to the spinning wheel before he had a chance to catch her. Brand heaved a put upon sigh. “I should have known.”
That earned him a glance. “Known what?”
Brand leaned back on his heels as he replied morosely, “That now I would have to compete with both Pebbles and that spinning wheel for your attention. It was so much trouble getting it here, I should have realized its malignant intent right away.”
Celena laughed even as she gave the wheel an experimental turn, her smile widening as it spun as it should. “Brand, have you considered that your habit of assigning nonexistent maliciousness to a sweet horse like Pebbles and now an inanimate object might be a sign that you have suffered a severe head injury at some point?”
“The thought never occurred to me,” he assured her cheerfully.
Her silver eyes lit with amusement as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I cannot say I am very surprised at that answer.”
Brand grinned at her. “Oh, a challenge, your majesty? Very well, I accept.”
“No, you do not,” Celena countered with a laugh. “I did not challenge you.”
“Of course, you did,” he insisted cheerfully as he stalked closer. “Which leaves me with only one response given that I am the captain of your guard and also your husband.”
Celena moved slightly behind the spinning wheel. “Behave.”
He grinned. “Never.”
* * *
I have always loved fairytales, myths, and legends. For Spindle, I faced the unique challenge of taking a rather static heroine in Sleeping Beauty and making it a novel-length adventure. My solution was to show a little bit of Celena’s origin story but have the true focus of the story centered on everything after she wakes up. This story also allowed me to really explore the culture shock of being displaced out of time and situation. While Celena is a very kind personality and looks for the best, she’s very aware of the political aspects of nobility, which allowed her own unique strength to be showcased in a way I absolutely loved.
My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has helped and encouraged me. I would not have been able to complete this story without you. Special thanks goes out to you, the readers, who have taken the time to join Celena and Brand on this adventure into the world of Sonera. I hope you have enjoyed it!
Love’s Enchanted Tales features retellings of classic fairytales and myths in an interconnected series of stand-alone books, which is why you will see cameos by other characters. Bringing back Naia and Malik was a special treat and you can read their story in Selkie’s Song. Sir George is from Cat’s Gambit. And the mysterious Duke of Glenrowan . . . Well, he will be receiving his own story too.
My favorite author-related meme on Facebook would have to be the one that says, “Feed an author! Write a review!” Reviews can be an author’s lifeline. I love hearing what readers think about my stories, my characters, and anything else you care to mention. It doesn’t have to be a long, detailed review. Just a few lines about the book will do. If you enjoyed Spindle, please consider taking the time to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
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Thank you!
Until our next meeting,
Kimberly A. Rogers
Romantic fantasy retellings of classic fairytales.
Selkie’s Song
A selkie’s song can enchant a man and tame the sea . . .
Naia’s unusual love for human things led her to become the sole artisan in her clan. But when this passion leads to her abduction, she loses more than contact with the sea when her pelt is taken. Unable to shift forms or return to the sea without it, she knows she will die if she cannot recover the pelt soon. Cut off from her family, Naia must appease the human king while persuading his lovesick son to honor past arrangements.
Malik has loved and lost before, an experience leading him to shy away from love. When Naia is stranded, however, he risks everything to find her. Together they uncover a plot that would sweep up humans and selkies alike in a war that would destroy the Five Kingdoms and possibly all of Sonera.
When the enemy acts, can they save sea and land . . . and each other?
A fantasy retelling of the classic fairytale, The Little Mermaid
Cat’s Gambit
Trusting a talking cat was perhaps the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard of . . .
Helena Sheppard always prided herself on keeping a level head. But when she gives up the flock of sheep meant to be her dowry to preserve her younger sister’s happiness, she accepts a cat to appease her family despite the impracticality. When the cat starts talking and insisting on an adventure, Helena finds her path taking rather unexpected turns.
Cursed by a dragoness nearly a century ago, Reed hasn’t spoken to a human in nearly as long. When Helena proves herself worthy, he grows determined to see the former shepherdess properly rewarded even if it means leading her to Carabas and encouraging her to accept the attentions of a nice knight.
But when they discover a dragon in Carabas, what will it cost to save the people and the kingdom?
A fantasy retelling of the classic fairytale, Puss in Boots
Can’t get enough fairytale romances? Need more dragons? Adventure?
Check out some of my favorite fairytale and fantasy romances!
The Firethorn Chronicles by Lea Doué— A fairytale romance series with dragons, magic, and opening with one of the best retellings of The Twelve Dancing Princesses I’ve ever read, The Firethorn Crown.
Duty by Rachel Rossano — An arranged marriage could save her or destroy them both. When new threats rise at the end of a civil war, can they trust each other? And will they find love in the midst of duty? The first in a fantasy romance series.
Seventh Born by Rachel Rossano — In a world where seventh born sons are hailed for their power as talent wielders, she is a daughter with impossible power. When she meets the strongest seventh born in the land, their paths twine and soon they must each decide what will they risk for their land and their God. The first in an epic fantasy romance trilogy.
Love’s Enchanted Tales
Selkie’s Song
The Storyteller’s Dragon
Masquerade
Cat’s Gambit
Spindle
The Therian Way Series
Prequel – Tiger’s Paw: A Novella
Book One – Leopard’s Heart
Book Two – Wolf’s Path
Book Three – Tiger’s Strength (Coming 2019)
The World of the Therian Way
Leopard’s Find*
(novelette originally published in the anthology Where the Light May Lead)
Tiger’s Shadow : A Novella*
*Set prior to Tiger’s Paw
Science Fiction
Remember Typhon – A Short Story
Historical Romance
Christmas Aria — A Christmas Regency Novella
Kimberly A. Rogers has never stopped enjoying the over-active imagination originally fueled by fantasy classics such as the works of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. With a steady supply of fairytales, mythology, and the folklore revolving around famous cryptids such as the Beast of Bray Road, she is well-prepared to spend her days writing various fantasy series ranging from urban fantasies to romantic fairytale retellings. On the rare occasion she’s not playing in a fantasy world, you can find her dabbling in military science fiction and Regency Era romances.