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Wrapping her winter cloak snugly around her black gown, Eliya sat beside Torena on a pallet and peeked at her revered teacher’s plain-bound copy of the Rone’en. While Valeria and the other ladies in the tent rested and listened to one of the maids picking out an idle tune on a harp, she ought to at least study. Still reading, Torena eased the book toward Eliya, allowing her to read the verses.
‘... But even if you suffer for doing right, you are blessed. Don’t be afraid or worry about your enemies’ threats. Instead bless the Liege, our Eternal Lord, in your hearts.’
The words shone at her, the verses vibrant on the page as the Liege’s Spirit beckoned, alive to her as never before. She could almost hear His otherworld whisper calling her from a timeless realm, “Walk with me! Be My Servant.”
If only she could. What would it be like to simply walk away into a wilderness and survive from day to day, depending on Him as if she were some ancient prophet? In Spirit, she smiled, imagining simply running away from Trisguard. Yet, perhaps she could serve Him just as well, if not better, from her own intended place. Eliya leaned against her teacher’s shoulder and whispered, “How do you always know the precise verses I need to read?”
“I don’t.” Torena traced the edge of a page, her touch as light and gentle as her whispered reply. “He’s the Author, is he not? He knew the very words you needed to read today. Lady...” She hesitated, then looked Eliya in the eyes. “If the perpetrator who set the fire is found, I must be forgiving and plead for mercy toward him.”
“What if others aren’t inclined to be forgiving? Every man in the camp today intends to kill the offender on sight.”
“Which is why I’m asking you, Lady Eliya, to support my wish for forgiveness if I’m the cause of last night’s fire.”
“But what if it was an accident caused by, say ... some drunken prankster. Or someone who hates me?”
“Drunken pranksters would have been found. And, who could hate you, lady? I’ve never heard so much as a whisper against you during all my years in the palace.”
Eliya smiled. “I’d like to believe no one’s despised me as a useless royal.”
“I believe that’s true. But if I say more, it’ll sound like disloyalty to your royal family.”
Her family. Straightening, Eliya gazed up at the tent’s exquisite pierced bronze main cupola, which supported a matched pierced bronze lantern suspended above their heads. Soon, the messengers would return, wouldn’t they? She’d hear that Iscah, Jesca, and Father were all well. Grieving, but well. Dear and blessed Liege, let it be so!
A hunting horn’s distant call filtered into the tent, warning them of approaching visitors. Had Lord-king Danek returned?
The other ladies sat up on their respective pallets, smoothing their gowns and veils. Straightening and stretching on her thickly padded pallet, Valeria yawned. “Lady Eliya, if Lord-king Danek’s returned, we ought to go greet him and see if he’s captured the scoundrel who set fire to your beautiful wagon.”
“Perhaps my brother’s men are reporting to us after spying out Ariym. They should be here any day.”
Valeria’s silvery eyes shone at her reference to Valo. Clearly, Valo was a pleasing topic. Valo was handsome and gracious—in most circumstances. Eliya hid a smile and waited for Valeria’s ladies to fasten her mantle. Would a match occur between Ceyphraland and Khelqua after all?
If so, her brother might live near Trisguard, and she’d have a sister-in-law’s company during festival celebrations between the realms. Truly, she was allowing her imagination to run ahead of reality. She must settle into Trisguard first.
Horses’ hooves and resounding huffs echoed through the encampment as Eliya stepped outside the tent with Valeria, followed by Torena and other highborn ladies of Ceyphraland’s royal court.
Her breath misting, Eliya eyed the procession, then swallowed as her gaze swept from Lord-king Danek’s handsome enigmatic face toward the men following him—some wearing gold tunics and surcoats.
Why had men from Trisguard followed Lord-king Danek into the encampment? Was Laros Rakiar hidden among them? Such things had been known to happen. Early histories of the empire often described rulers as so eager to meet their wives before the final vows that they resorted to disguising themselves and hurrying ahead of their own cavalcades.
Eliya almost shook her head. Not one man among these husky warriors matched the envoy’s description of Laros Rakiar’s long, elegant frame, graceful manner, and his richly curled dark ash hair. However ....
The formerly antagonistic Aretes caught Eliya’s stare, then looked away.
Torena stepped up behind Eliya, her voice troubled, though she whispered. “Why is former commander Aretes riding among Trisguard’s men?”
Eliya’s thoughts fragmented, then regathered as she watched Aretes dismount. As any Ariym guard, Aretes had pledged lifelong loyalty to Khelqua. Either he was a traitor and a spy, or ... he’d found worse.
She swallowed as an unformed thought gnawed at the edge of her mind.
Before Trisguard’s retinue halted, Valo hurried over to Eliya. “That’s Aretes. Why is he here? I thought he’d returned to Ariym.”
The dark, unwelcomed thought nagged again. Eliya looked up at her brother.
Valo averted his eyes and hushed.
AWARE OF NUMEROUS PRYING stares focused on them, Danek fought dread as he, his men, and Keparos’ retinue rode into the encampment.
Eliya must be told the truth, of course. Yet perhaps she’d already admitted to herself in her innermost soul that Khelqua had been swept away, with only handfuls of survivors scattered here and there across the empire. She was no fool. Nor was Valo, despite his green years, as the Walhaisii would say.
An obliterated Khelqua left nothing to Eliya and Valo but their royal blood, which now meant pitiably little to the empire’s remaining tetrarchs.
Danek wasn’t about to tell them so.
Let Aretes fulfill Rakiar’s command. But why had Aretes told Laros Rakiar first? Where were the other men who’d been sent out the morning after the quakes and flood? Had they stayed with Laros Rakiar to serve the northern realm? If they were lost, then why hadn’t Aretes done the honorable thing and sought out Valo first? As Rodiades only surviving son, Valo ruled any remaining scraps of land in Khelqua’s foothills and highlands.
Danek dismounted, then eyed Aretes. Trust that errant commander? Not for a single breath.
His steps measured, dignified, Aretes approached Eliya and her brother. Danek drew near, watching, listening with all his might. To his credit, Aretes’ naturally truculent expression faded and weakened, becoming somber distress. By the time he knelt before Khelqua’s last surviving royals, Aretes fought visible tears, obviously too choked by emotions to speak.
As Ariym’s former third commander struggled for words, Aniketos, Belkrates, and both their heirs marched toward Eliya, apparently to greet the Trisguard delegation and to provoke a confrontation. His cloak flaring in the cool air, Danek hurried to meet them. Young Belkian of Belvasae, and Ceyphraland’s Adalric might have been twins, giving him identical glances of annoyance as he approached.
Whatever game Ceyphraland and Belvasae intended to play against Trisguard, it must wait.
Danek halted Aniketos and Belkrates with a harsh whisper. “My lords, please delay formalities. They’ve unwelcomed news.”
ELIYA GRIPPED VALO’S arm, then held her breath, waiting for Aretes to speak. She’d never seen a soldier so close to tears—a man preparing to describe incalculable destruction.
At last, his voice tense, subdued, Valo commanded Aretes, “Tell us your news.”
Aretes removed his helmet and lowered his sweat-plastered head almost to the ground. “My lord, and Princess Eliyana ... our guardsmen were lost to a flood. And Ariym’s submerged.” Drawing in a deep, broken breath, the commander added, “From the hillsides above, I saw crests of towers but no life. For all—our guardsmen and Khelqua—the tide was too deep. Too swift to escape.”
Father. Jesca, and Iscah ... dead. Eliya’s stomach hollowed, plummeting with her soul as if she’d been dropped into a void—an eternal pit from which she’d never escape. Aretes lifted his head and looked up at her as if certain of retribution. Her tears reduced Aretes to a glittering, grief-blurred illusion, and her knees weakened, refusing to hold her.
Kneeling, she dug her fingers into the cold, sparse-grassed soil and held tight as she cried. Valo knelt beside her, one arm around her as he muted sobs, his body shaken by tears.
NIGHTFALL’S COLD AIR soothed Eliya’s tear-ravaged face as she stepped outside the ladies’ tent. Valeria followed, clad in dark clothes, her sad eyes conveying sympathy. “I’ll walk with you.”
“Thank you.”
Torena shadowed them, her swollen-eyed gaze distant as she hugged her copy of the Rone’en beneath her dark cloak. She’d said almost nothing today, but alternated between tears, silent prayers, and reading verses. Whatever the revered lady might think, Eliya didn’t have the heart to question her. Torena might offer her more insights than she could accept this evening. Yet, Eliya had known the self-hidden truth. Now, to cope with undeniable loss, her mind offered the refuge of numbness. Pain from a distance.
As if discerning her mood, Valeria walked with her in commiserating silence. At last, she murmured, “I wonder how Lord-king Valo’s doing.”
Lord-king Valo. The very title acknowledged Father’s death. Valo had grieved with her this morning, then isolated himself in his tent. She must check on him. They’d only each other.
Eliya drew in a shaking breath and released it. “Perhaps we should go find him and at least sit with him, even if he doesn’t wish to talk.”
Valeria sighed, her delicate profile and dark hair outlined against the deepening night, her voice wistful. “Exactly what I was thinking. I only wish I could do more for you both. And for your people. Perhaps the other tetrarchs might agree upon protections and help for Khelqua’s survivors when they’re found.”
“We should urge Valo to request their assistance.” Eliya fought for composure as her throat tightened around the words. “Khelqua’s few survivors will most likely be found scattered throughout the highlands between the Walhaisii and ... the waters. Some of the Walhaisii are ... already searching.”
She was going to cry again. How terrible to feel so helpless. A few more breaths eased her aching throat, but not the grief. Ahead, a cook-fire glowed, warm and inviting, with a number of the Walhaisii warriors seated around it, talking quietly as they waited for their evening pottage to finish cooking. Their leader, Sion of the Sevold Valley, bowed his head to Eliya as she and Valeria passed. One of his men began to hum a low, soul-haunting tune, which Sion and the others took up, adding their powerful voices to the music—the same lament they’d keened the evening they’d found the doomed Ceyphraland cavalcade. Were they lamenting Khelqua?
A chill ran up Eliya’s arms.
Clearly summoned by the tune, Lord-king Danek stepped out of his tent, fastening his dark, fur-edged cloak. He looked toward Eliya. Then at his men.
She listened, wiping away tears as the Walhaisii crooned their dirge. Danek joined them, adding his low, full voice to theirs, the lament gaining force as their wordless plea lifted toward the skies, imploring the Eternal’s compassion. Valeria rested one hand on Eliya’s shoulder and waited with her, eyes closed as if praying while listening.
When the lament ended, Eliya murmured to Valeria, “I should speak to Lord-king Danek. I promise, I’ll return.”
“If I see Valo, I’ll tell him what we’ve discussed.”
Would Valo welcome Valeria’s support? She was obviously infatuated with him, and making excuses to talk. Just as Eliya needed to talk with Danek. Soon, the whole encampment would notice and gossip.
Yet she needed to be near Danek, even if he said nothing. And he seemed to hope she’d talk with him. He waited, watching her approach, with Torena following several steps behind. “Lady, the Walhaisii grieve with you.” His voice soothed gently, as if she were an orphaned child who’d wrung his heart. “You’re not alone. As the Eternal Liege lives, I promise, whatever happens, you and your brother have friends among the Walhaisii.”
“Valo and I thank you. I ... suspected the worst. But I hoped to be wrong.”
“As did I.” He turned, subtly urging her to walk with him. “My people will continue to search the waters’ edges for survivors, I’ve no doubt. Anyone who’s seen the destruction and remained unmoved is an unnatural being.”
His quiet compassion, strength, and pledged support, heartened her. “Thank you. You’ve offered before I could ask.”
“As I should. As we should.”
Her next prayer should remain silent. She shouldn’t even whisper ... “I pray Trisguard and its king are your equal.”
A wry smile twisted Danek’s full, handsomely curved mouth. “He will undoubtedly vow that he’s more than my equal.”
But would such a vow be true? Laros Rakiar hadn’t met her hopes thus far—he’d only added to her fears. Meanwhile, she was staring at the Walhaisii’s lord-king as if no other man existed. Undoubtedly, Torena would notice. Looking away, Eliya released a pent-up breath. “I mustn’t linger. Perhaps tomorrow, my future husband will arrive.” She rubbed one hand over her face and shook off a shiver. “I wonder what he’ll think. Yet, everything’s wrong. I’m a mourner going to my wedding feast, and I’ve nothing to offer. Merely a woman with no wealth, no country ... wrung-out and ghastly.”
“No,” he muttered, his voice so low she almost didn’t hear. “Beautiful and courageous.” His grumbled argument poured verses into those three words. His bleak parting glance added more—removing all doubt. He loved her.
She studied his eyes as they reflected the nearby fire, then silently bowed her head and returned to Torena, who waited, still clasping the Rone’en beneath her cloak. For the first time since this morning, when former Third-commander Aretes broke the devastating news, Torena’s distress vanished. Just long enough for her to scold beneath her breath. “Lady, others might wonder, but I know what I see when you two speak to each other. I beg you to maintain distance from temptation.”
“I will. After I’m married and in Trisguard, I’ll never see him again.” What an unbearable thought. Every light in the encampment hazed and sparkled through unshed tears as Eliya fought heartache. She blinked, then turned away, but Torena turned alongside her, to walk with her.
And to take the arrow that shot toward Eliya from the darkness.