Chapter Thirty

The next morning Cera got up early and donned breeches, a tunic and a new leather jerkin she’d managed to wheedle out of one of the king’s stewards. Sleeveless, it was a much finer, softer leather than the one it replaced. She smoothed the surface down her breasts and stomach with both palms. The feel of the fine hide was pleasing to the touch.

After grabbing her bow and quiver, she belted on her magic sword. With one last look at the huge room, Cera swung the quiver over her shoulder and left, thankfully seeing no one in the corridor.

She headed into the great hall, Trikser on her heels, not concerned about the looks she received from people passing by in the corridors, both regarding her choice of dress and her bondmate’s presence.

Planning on heading to the King’s Riders’ training grounds after filling her stomach, Cera could work up a sweat, forget some hurt, and clear her mind before she approached the king.

She was able to break her fast without running into anyone she wished to talk to, including the king himself. Cera received dark looks from surrounding courtiers when Trikser lay at her feet at her chosen table, but she ignored them, and no one had the guts to approach her. She was the Duchess of Greenwald, after all, much higher in rank than the surrounding minor lords and ladies.

Passing through the courtyard, Cera was on her way to the stables to get Ash for the short ride to the training grounds when someone called her name.

Hadrian strode toward her wearing a cloak, ready for travel.

Her heart sank.

“Ah, lass. I’ve been looking for you all over.” His pointed hat was slammed over his unruly white hair, obscuring his face.

“Hadrian . . . you’re leaving?” Cera’s voice choked.

“Aye, lass. I don’t belong here. Lord Dagget and his men are heading back to Berat and they’ve said I can ride with them. It’s time.” The elf wizard smiled warmly and Cera met his clear blue eyes.

A lump rose in her throat as Hadrian’s face started to blur. “Hadrian . . .”

“Hush, lass. It’s for the best. You know where I live. Come visit me.” His tone was gruff, but he smiled again.

Cera forced her lips to curve up, unable to find her voice. Before he could protest, she crushed him in a hug.

Hadrian returned her squeeze and chuckled when she released him.

Trikser wuffed and wagged his tail, insistent on getting the elf wizard’s attention as well.

The elf gave her wolf a scratch behind the ear and a pat on the head that seemed to satisfy them both.

“Thank you . . . for all you’ve done for me.” A single tear creeping down her cheek.

Hadrian shifted in his boots, saying nothing, but gave her a curt nod.

“Have you seen Vanora and Braedon . . . and Jorrin?” It hurt to say his name.

“Aye, I’ve said all my goodbyes, you were the last. I’m glad I found you.”

The pounding of hooves echoed throughout the courtyard.

Tristan’s father, Lord Dugald Dagget, and his men rode in, glancing in their direction. They waited for Hadrian, one of the knights holding Winthrop’s reins.

Cera exchanged one last look with the elf wizard and swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Looks like it’s time. I don’t want to keep them waiting,” Hadrian said.

Forcing a nod, Cera walked the elf wizard to Winthrop’s side and watched him mount. Her stomach did a back flip, afraid she’d never see him again, but she pushed the feeling away.

Hadrian would be in his cottage any time she needed him. Like he’d said, she knew where he lived.

She would visit.

“Good morning, Lady Ryhan,” Lord Dagget said, bowing from his saddle.

Cera smiled at Tristan’s father and inclined her head. “Lord Dagget. Safe travels,” she said as pleasantly as she could manage.

The duke was dressed grandly, wearing crisp deep brown leathers with a bright green tunic and doublet made of shimmery fabric. No armor, but his saddle displayed the embroidered seal of Berat: a large bear surrounded by lush forests, depicting what the Province was known for.

“Thank you, my lady.” Lord Dagget smiled warmly. His hazel eyes and brown hair were the exact shade of Tristan’s—though the son’s hair was much shorter. Despite the gray at the temples, he was handsome.

“Cera, take care of Jorrin, he’s a good lad,” Hadrian said, giving her a long look that told her he was aware all was not well.

Hearing his name made her wince, and Cera couldn’t stop the tears on her cheeks, nor could she find her voice. She nodded.

That seemed to satisfy the elf wizard.

She watched him ride away with the group of men, sadness threatening to overwhelm her.

Having slept on things didn’t change her mind about Jorrin—she was still convinced he’d betrayed her—but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Cera was fighting to function instead of collapsing into a sobbing ball. Her body trembled and she wiped tears away, shaking her head.

I’m stronger than this.

Squaring her shoulders, Cera stood taller.

Trikser whimpered and nudged her hand. He wagged his tail, but all Cera could do was sigh.

Resuming her original course to the stables, she asked a young stable boy to ready Ash for her, pacing as she waited for him to be brought out.

“Your stallion, milady.” The boy smiled as he held his hand out with Ash’s reins. Cera thanked him and he nodded before retreating into the stable.

Smiling, she greeted her horse. She’d missed him. Cera rested her forehead against his, closing her eyes, yearning for simplicity . . . to go back to a time when she was younger and free of responsibility.

Ash whinnied and lipped her hand.

Cera stroked his nose and gave him an affectionate rub along his strong jowls. “I’ve missed you, Ash.” She smoothed her hand along his soft neck.

He nickered as if he agreed, and she climbed up in the saddle, kicking him into an easy trot, Trikser not far behind them.

 

****

 

The King’s Riders’ Headquarters stood to the left of the open fields of the training grounds, not very far from the main stables, and was bustling with normal activity that brought back many memories.

Nostalgia hit as Cera rode in and remembered all the times she’d returned from a run. She’d spent most of the last seven turns in Terraquist here at the Riders’ Barracks and not in Greenwald with her family.

Swallowing hard, she ignored that line of thought.

A group of young Riders, their ranks announced by the different colors of their cloaks, was exiting the small eating hall in the center of the headquarters building. More memories of her time here came flooding back.

“Cera,” one of them shouted.

She grinned, recognizing an old friend.

The group swarmed her and everyone demanded her attention at once. Forcing out a breath, Cera greeted everyone she knew and met several she did not.

Normal.

She felt better than she had in days. Coming here had been a fantastic idea.

Here she wasn’t Lady Ryhan or milady. Here she was Cera, Senior King’s Rider. A leader, yes, but with some freedom. People didn’t look to her because of who she was born to be; they looked to her because of her skills. And though many of the other riders were also children of the highborn, among the King’s Riders titles didn’t matter.

Rank was equally earned.

It was truly refreshing.

“I’d heard you were here,” Simond said as Cera dismounted Ash. He gave her an easy smile she was able to return.

Around her age, they’d joined at the same time. He was a pleasant-looking young man, with brown hair and light brown eyes. Tall, but on the lanky side, Simond wore his hunter green Senior Rider cloak with pride.

Cera grabbed her bow and gave Ash’s reins over to the boy who had offered to take him for her, thanking him.

Everyone surrounded her, all of them speaking at once. The chaos was welcome, and warmed her from the inside out.

“How are you?” someone asked.

“Are you staying long?”

“Have you come back?”

All the questions made her head spin, but Cera threw her head back and laughed.

Who do I answer first?

“Let her breathe, everyone,” an amused female voice announced, parting the small group as she strode forward.

Cera grinned. “Aimil!” She rushed forward and grabbed the other girl tight.

Aimil Gallard, daughter of Lord Paxton Gallard of the Province of Ascova, was one of her oldest and dearest friends. She’d joined the Riders because of Cera, something Cera would always be proud of.

Her longtime friend was also bonded to a wolf, Isair. Large, with a coat mixed of red, brown and gray, the female was close on her mistress’s heels, which was probably why the other Riders had scattered.

Although, many a Rider was bonded, Cera didn’t spot any other animals close by.

She felt a silly giggle bubble up.

“It’s good to see you, Lady Ryhan,” Aimil teased with a playful grin, curtsying with her hunter green Senior Rider cloak spread wide, since she wore breeches.

“You as well, Lady Gallard.” Cera grinned back. She surveyed the crowd. A familiar redhead was missing. “Where’s Ansley?”

Ansley Fraser, daughter of Captain Murdoch Fraser, knight and captain of the king’s personal guard, was the third of Cera and Aimil’s little band.

Trouble comes in threes, their captain, Sir Artair Moray, would always joke.

When in Terraquist, they—and their wolves—were rarely apart.

“She’s on a long distance run to the Netian Valley. The lord there had some tragedy and she’ll be running from holding to holding in the area. She’ll be gone all sevenday, maybe next as well.” Aimil frowned.

“Aww, I’d hoped to see her. I probably won’t be here long.” Cera pushed the disappointment away. She’d get to see Ansley, and her bondmate, a black she-wolf named Ali, another time.

“She’ll be sad she missed you,” Aimil said.

Trikser and Isair eyed each other for only a moment followed by a thorough sniff, some tail wagging and then took off at a run side by side into the nearby woods.

Cera and Aimil watched them fondly and then giggled at each other when their eyes met.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Aimil asked. “I don’t see your cloak.”

“No, I’m not back . . . just thought I might practice some,” Cera said, lifting her bow.

“Oh . . . do I sense a challenge?” Aimil grinned, her dark brown eyes flashing.

Cera chuckled.

Her friend was a petite girl, about five feet tall, and had long raven hair that fell to her waist. It was plaited at the moment, as that made it easier to manage when making runs.

Aimil was excellent with a bow, despite her size. Actually, she was one of the few real challengers to Cera’s skill among the Senior Riders.

“You know you only beat me that one time.” Cera smirked, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Until today.” Aimil winked.

She took off at a jog toward the Archery Field.

Simond chuckled. “You gonna let her talk to you like that?” Head cocked to one side, he fought a smile.

“I’ll make her pay when I defeat her.”

He barked another laugh. “Come on, everyone. For those of you who don’t know her, Cera’s a legend around here.” Simond gestured for the small group of new recruits to follow them.

Cera’s cheeks burned at his praise, her eyes raking over the members of the group, each clad in a red cloak, announcing their rank as equivalent to a page. Her gaze rested on a small girl with light brown hair and big blue eyes who couldn’t have been more than thirteen.

The girl blushed scarlet when Cera smiled at her. “What’s your name?”

“Isobel.”

“Well, come on, Isobel, let me show you how to beat Aimil with a bow.” Cera threw her arm around the girl’s slender shoulders.

Fair brow arched, Simond grinned. “Confident, are we?”

“I never lose twice.”

Simond gave another hearty laugh that lightened her spirits even more.

Visiting Rider Headquarters was a great idea.

 

****

 

Braedon looked down into the courtyard from the window of the room he and Vanora had been assigned to, observing Cera hugging Hadrian.

He was saddened to see his old friend leaving so soon, but he’d known—and felt—Hadrian’s unease at being immersed in the world of humans.

The elf wizard would return to his small parcel of land near Berat, and Braedon was glad to know the he’d be right there if and when Braedon needed him.

Hadrian had shot down Vanora’s plea for him to return to Aramour with them; but despite that, Braedon was going to make sure it wouldn’t be too long before he saw him again.

Braedon was a fool for losing twenty turns of his life. Twenty turns away from his wife, his son, and all the loved ones he’d left in Aramour. He should’ve done a better job of investigation to see if it would’ve been safe to go home, but the running had become ingrained. He sighed.

“Something wrong, love?” Vanora’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Braedon didn’t have adequate words to describe how he felt. She’d accepted him back into her arms as if he’d never left. No blame for him, no malice, not very many questions. Vanora loved him as she always had. Even reminded him so right away.

And making love to his wife was even better than he’d remembered. She was truly his lifemate, as the elves called them.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just thinking about Hadrian. I’ll miss him . . . again.”

Vanora nodded, smiling.

His breath caught. He’d always been stunned by her beauty.

Couldn’t quite believe she was his.

Still his.

Braedon pulled her into his arms, smiling as he inhaled the floral scent of her hair. She didn’t even come up to his chest, but no one could ever mistake Vanora for a child.

She looked up at him, her sapphire eyes shining and a loving smile shaping the curve of her full lips. “What are you worried about?” Vanora whispered.

One corner of his mouth lifted. His love might not have any magic, but she had a keen sense of intuition. “I thought I was the empath . . .” Braedon chuckled.

“You are, most of the time.” She grinned and snuggled against him. “I just think I know you very well.”

“Aye, love, that you do. Even after all this time.”

Vanora held his gaze, a softness in her eyes that made his heart pound. “Time gone doesn’t matter. Only time moving forward does.”

Braedon nodded, feeling her love for him through his magic so strongly it could have knocked him over. “I love you, Vanora.” He leaned down to claim her mouth in a tender kiss.

She smiled as they parted. “And I love you, Braedon.” Vanora sighed against him as he held her closer. “Are we to return to Aramour soon?”

“As soon as your son fixes his mess,” Braedon said, somewhat worried, somewhat amused.

Even after all they had been through, Jorrin and Cera couldn’t get it together. What exactly had happened was a mystery—neither of them had confided in him—but he’d gathered that Cera refused his son despite the fact the king had announced a formal betrothal.

What could have happened that Cera told Jorrin she wouldn’t be his wife?

They had to work out their differences so she would agree to marry him.

They belonged together, just as he and Vanora belonged together.

“I want to make sure they’re all right before we depart, but I’m more than ready to get home.”

Home. With my wife.

Braedon was actually free.

The king had confirmed the men who’d been after him—magic hunters that harvested people and magical creatures for power and coin—were either apprehended or dead. It made Braedon all the more the fool, though. He’d wasted turns.

You can’t change the past.

He chided himself and forced his focus on the woman in his arms.

“Jorrin has always been stubborn, but he loves that girl. I can see it plain as day,” Vanora remarked.

“Aye, I know it, love.” He caressed her cheek.

“I think they’ll be fine,” she said. “Will the twins accompany us?”

The Leodin twin mages had been even more fascinated with Vanora than they’d been with Hadrian. Edana hadn’t been far from his wife’s side since they’d met.

Vanora had gathered the girl into her small arms and rocked her by the fire. She’d told her all about Aramour, holding her as if she was a child, and not a young woman in her early twenties. His wife had told him a girl needed a mother from time to time, no matter what age she reached. Rory had also clung to his wife’s hand when she spoke.

To see the twins fascinated, content, and connected to their heritage had affected Braedon’s emotions as much as it did theirs. And made him admire the woman he loved even more than he had before.

They’d never seen Aramour. Had no knowledge of their parents, or even where they’d been born. Their mother was most likely their elfin parent, but of that they weren’t even sure—although, Vanora and Hadrian both agreed it was probably the case.

Their earliest memories consisted of living in human slums, no adults to care for them. Jorrin was the first person they’d ever met like them; Hadrian was the first elf they’d ever seen.

Thank the Blessed Spirit the Leodins had found King Nathal.

“For a visit. They wish to return to King Nathal. They see him as a father in many ways.”

“The king is a good man,” Vanora said.

“Aye, he is, love. Our Jorrin is a duke,” Braedon said, wonder washing over him.

His son had never aspired to be such, but Jorrin loved Cera and he’d have to be strong for her.

“And you are my fine knight,” Vanora whispered, her smile proud.

Braedon grinned. “Aye, but I thought I always was.” He winked, and her smile widened to a grin.

“I don’t know . . .” his wife teased, laughing and shaking her head.

Lifting her, he swung her around much like Jorrin had when he’d seen her before the feast.

She laughed and hugged him tighter when he set her to her feet. “Are you still worried about them, love?” Vanora asked.

“I just hope love can conquer all for them.”

Vanora nodded thoughtfully, saying nothing.