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WayFarer Page 5


  5

  Backlash

  “Aewen.” Inydde stood to her feet and held herself in stillness. “What became of you this day?”

  Aewen looked from her mother’s upright figure to the slumped and sobbing bundle of clothing that pulled upright. She gasped when she recognized Murial as the source of the weeping. She seemed older, the lines etched deeper into her face than when Aewen left her—had it been only this morning? Murial wrung her hands and smiled through tears. “You’ve returned safe, Lof Yuel be thanked.”

  “Be still, Murial.” Inydde rapped out. “My daughter’s welfare is no longer your concern. Gather your belongings and take to the road. You’ll have no reference from me.”

  “Mother.”

  “Silence. I’ll have no protests from you, Aewen. Murial should not have allowed you to wander off as she did this morning. She’s entirely too lenient with you.”

  Aewen’s jaw dropped. Her voice, when she found it, sounded strangled. “How can you say such a thing when you, yourself, look the other way and allow me freedoms? You’re embarrassed because I was not here to receive Prince Raefe. That’s what this is all about, is it not?” She stomped her foot, past caution. “I’ll not have Murial punished in my place.”

  Inydde advanced, red-faced. Catching Aewen by the hair, she drew back her arm, and her slap rang out as Aewen’s cheek took fire. The blow spun Aewen backward against the open door, which crashed into the wall as she fell. She pulled to her knees and raised her arms to protect herself, but Inydde only jerked her upright by the shoulders. She gained her feet, and they faced one another, panting.

  “You will not instruct your mother.” Inydde paused to catch her breath. “Do you understand?”

  She lowered her head. “I understand.”

  Inydde released her and huddled by the fire as if chilled. “Leave us,” she flung at Murial, who had not yet moved.

  Aewen looked to her maid with silent tears sliding down her face. She could not imagine her life without the woman who had watched over her since before she could remember. Murial gave her a tender look, straightened, and walked through the doorway to her own chamber.

  Aewen spoke to the back her mother turned to her. “The fault is mine. I should not have run away today. I was upset.”

  Inydde stood in profile, the flames in the hearth behind her. “Brother Robb said as much.”

  Aewen managed to contain her surprise. She had not thought Brother Robb would go to her parents. “Did he tell you all?”

  “He said you wished to take a vow of celibacy.”

  She put her arms around herself. To refuse her request was one thing. To tell her parents what she’d asked was another. “Well then. You know he refused me.”

  Inydde faced her. “You must keep your father’s word, which he gave with your happiness in mind.”

  Aewen gave a short, bitter laugh. “And so my life is decided for me. My father, whom you remind me has my happiness in mind, did not even bother to ask me what I wanted.”

  “I warn you, Aewen, do not provoke me further. You will marry Raefe of Darksea.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  Inydde’s face went red again and her hands balled into fists at her sides. She took the strides that brought her close, and Aewen flinched.

  “That option does not belong to you.” Her mother struck only with words this time, but she delivered a harsher blow.

  Murial returned from her chamber bearing a large carpet bag and a cloth bundle that looked like it contained bedding. She wore a cape, a hood of black wool, and sturdy shoes. At least she would not be cold, although Aewen could not bear the thought of her upon the road by night.

  “Mother, please don’t send Murial away, or at least let her go by morning.”

  Inydde’s eyes narrowed to slits of sapphire as she looked at the old servant, who huddled in her cloak before her. “Very well, then. You can stay.” She cocked an eyebrow and shot a look at Aewen. “But mind your mistress does not stray again, and that she acts with good faith toward Prince Raefe, or you’ll find the road your bed.”

  Aewen caught her breath as Murial’s gaze flew to hers.

  Inydde swept toward the open door, pausing as her hand came out to touch Aewen’s face. “Bathe your face and tidy yourself, daughter. There’s yet time to meet Prince Raefe at table. We’ll await you.”

  Inydde departed, and it seemed she took the air from the chamber with her. Aewen pushed the door closed, listening for the click of the latch before she turned back to embrace Murial, who wept in her arms. She soothed her servant, although she wanted to weep herself.

  ****

  The maiden who looked back with enormous eyes of palest blue from Aewen’s mirror glass seemed to have no resemblance to herself. The skin beneath those eyes bore a faint smudge of purple—the result of sleeplessness. Her black hair, so like her mother’s only served to draw attention to skin that seemed pale, drained of life, except for the red stain on her cheek. Aewen sighed and put her hand over the tender place. She could do nothing to hide the mark. With a sudden surge of anger, she drew her hand away. Let Prince Raefe and King Devlon guess the truth. It didn’t matter. She would find a way to free herself yet. Murial finished dressing her hair, and Aewen turned away from the mirror. She must not involve her maid in her troubles again.

  Aewen, with Murial holding a lanthorn to light her way, descended the side stairs and took the corridor that ran the length of Cobbleford Castle. An archway at its center led into the great hall. The sound of chatter reached her long before she entered the enormous vaulted room with its gilt and crystal. She blinked in the sudden light of many torches, fires, and candles. A footman came forward to offer his arm. She walked beside him toward the raised platform at the north end of the hall where her family and guests waited. She kept her pace slow, wondering how she would be able to eat anything. Her head ached and her stomach churned with nausea.

  She saw him then, youthful and handsome, with eyes that sparkled. No wonder Caerla recommended him so. And yet, despite Prince Raefe’s handsomeness, the lift of his head hinted of arrogance.

  Her father, King Euryon of Westerland, watched her, too. Although Aewen avoided his eye, she could not detect any sign that her father knew of her rebellion. She curtsied to her parents. Inydde stood in greeting and went to her at once. She might look the picture of motherly grace to others, but Inydde dug the tips of her nails into Aewen’s arm.

  Raefe rose from table and came forward with his father, Devlon of Darksea, to give his bow to her. With a parting squeeze, her mother released her grip, and Aewen made her own dutiful curtsey. Her face grew warm under an inspection from deep blue eyes. “You have much of beauty about you.”

  She bowed her head. “Milord, I thank you.”

  “I hope you are now well? Your mother gave your apologies earlier—a headache, I understand.”

  “Thank you, I am better now.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. May I escort you to table?” Raefe took her arm without waiting for permission. “You will sit beside me.”

  Aewen looked away from her mother’s hard sapphire eyes and let Raefe draw her to the table. She felt small beside him, for he stood a head above her and had breadth of shoulder besides. She smiled across to Caerla, seated on his other side. Her sister had taken pains with her appearance, but the result could not have been more unfortunate. Braiding and twining her hair about her head did tame its unruliness but also drew attention to Caerla’s short neck. Her cream gown of finest silk played against the tawny color of her hair, but washed out her complexion.

  Beside Caerla red-headed Perthmon, the oldest of her brothers, slanted a gleaming glance from his dark eyes at her before turning back to his conversation with King Devlon. Of them all, Perth understood her best. He would know, even if no one told him, how she felt about marrying Raefe.

  Next to King Devlon sat her mother, a well-groomed miracle of composure whom Aewen could not credit as the same woman who had struck her
with such passion.

  Her father rested one arm about Mother as he engaged King Devlon in fervent conversation. On Father’s other side, another brother, Connor, spooned pudding into his mouth with an appreciative gleam, obviously more interested in food than conversation, but then Conn was nothing if not practical. From his sturdy build to his pale blue eyes and curling brown hair, Conn took after their father.

  “…and lively, would you not say?”

  When Raefe’s intense blue eyes pierced hers, Aewen gave a vague nod, hoping that whatever he’d said needed no contribution on her part.

  “Perhaps I shall ask permission to take you there on the morrow, then. Would that please you?”

  Aewen could only nod again and smile, although the enthusiasm on Raefe’s face dimmed at her cautious response.

  “Oh how wonderful. I love Lancert.” Caerla burst out, her eyes shining.

  Raefe turned to her. “You’re most welcome to come along.”

  Lancert? Aewen’s confusion cleared. Raefe planned to take her to Lancert. She could think of other places she’d rather visit. The hustle and bustle of the city did not strike a chord within her as it did Caerla, but any escape from Cobbleford after today’s horrible episode came as welcome.

  She gave Raefe her first genuine smile since meeting him. “My thanks.”

  Raefe’s smile returned, full force, reaching his eyes. Of all the people she might have found herself betrothed to, he at least seemed kind. What if she did marry him? Would that be so unpalatable? She tried to put the thought from her, but it persisted.

  Servants brought food and they ate a plentiful feast of boar’s head, venison and wild onions, a salad of greenings, stewed plums, slurry nuts, and assorted puddings. Caerla carried the conversation, which centered on the delights to be found in Lancert. Aewen had naught to do but attend, smile, and nod at appropriate times. While the two laughed together over some joke that escaped Aewen, she could not help but wish Caerla had been the older sister who must be given in marriage first, so suited did her temperament seem to Raefe’s. Her betrothed lowered his voice to speak for her alone, perhaps fearful she’d become jealous of his attention to her sister. “I love exploring places like Lancert, but in the end I’m always glad to return to Darksea.”

  She smiled and lifted her cup but paused before drinking. “Tell me about your home.”

  “It’s a place of wild shores and tall trees that love the morning mists. The people of Darksea are a tough breed. We work hard and we play hard, too.” Raefe gave her an intimate smile. “But I plan to do more than tell you of it, Princess. I will make it your own.”

  Aewen’s smile faltered, and her hand shook as she lowered her cup.

  “What’s this?”

  He saw too much. “Forgive me, Prince Raefe. I’m grateful for your intentions. I simply find them overwhelming.”

  “Have you not been told of our fathers’ agreement?”

  She recovered something of her lost composure. “I know of it, yes. But two days hence I had thought to pass my days in service to the poor.” She met his gaze. “My future changed in the blink of an eye.”

  “I hope you will find that change agreeable.”

  She managed a smile. “We are of the same mind.”

  He answered with a robust smile. “Come then. Let us enjoy ourselves now. You may find tomorrow pleasant despite your fears.” He raised his cup. “To our future.”

  She drank his toast, gazing at him above the rim of what seemed a cup of poison.

  ****

  “Move over.”

  Aewen recognized the voice whispering in the darkness. She shifted to allow her sister into her bed. Caerla’s company came as a welcome distraction, for her thoughts kept her from sleep. Light flared behind the bed hangings, followed by another crash of thunder. Caerla, already shivering, shook also and ducked her head beneath the counterpane.

  She smiled and put her arms around Caerla. “Whhst. You’re safe. I don’t blame you, though. Tonight’s storm rages.”

  They lay still until both the storm’s fury and Caerla’s fears abated. “Do you think you will miss me coming to your bed at night after you marry?”

  Aewen tightened her arms about her sister. “Of course, I’ll miss you.”

  “I wish you did not marry Raefe.”

  “Not more so than I.”

  “You do not wish to marry Raefe—even having met him?”

  Sudden tears threatened to choke Aewen. “I do not wish to marry him, especially after having met him.”

  Caerla stiffened in her arms. “How can you say such a terrible thing? Raefe is wonderful, and he has set himself to woo you, to see to your every need. Think of whom else he might have been—someone harsh or horrible or hideous. How can you be so ungrateful?”

  “Peace, Caerla. It has nothing to do with Raefe’s worthiness. I appreciate his kindness, but even if I wished to marry, I would hope for a husband I suited better.”

  “Why do you say you’re unsuited?”

  “Can you not see it for yourself? You’re with us most of the time. Each day Raefe grasps life by the throat as if to wring all he can from it. Such zeal alarms me. And he desires nothing better than festivities and the company of others, whereas I seek the quietude of nature.”

  “You name the things I admire most about him. How can you despise him?”

  Aewen bit her tongue to keep from blurting out her wish that Caerla, who thrived on Raefe’s energy, might be the one to marry him. It wasn’t fair to mention such an impossible idea, especially since Caerla might wish, as she did, that Aewen were not the older sister who must marry before the younger. How different these days might be had that been the case. “I don’t despise Raefe, but he exhausts me. I’ve tried to keep up with him these past weeks, but I feel myself growing thin around the edges, as if I will fade away at any moment.”

  “I’ve noticed you seem quieter than usual.”

  “That’s because I’m so unhappy. Sometimes in the early mornings before anyone looks for me, I slip outside the castle gates to walk along the banks of the Cobbleford and watch the mists play above the waters. Only in these moments can I revel in the small freedoms remaining to me. Marrying Raefe will deny me even those.”

  “But you will marry him, regardless?”

  Aewen dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. Her voice came as a whisper. “I can’t.”

  As Caerla sat up the tick shifted. “You must. How dare you think only of yourself. What about me? I can’t marry until you do. Would you have me wilt on the vine? Don’t you see I have little time left? I—I’m no beauty like you. It will take a bit of time and a little doing for me to find a husband. And yet you dally and dig in your heels as if your own desires are the only that matter.” Caerla threw back the bed covers and yanked the hangings aside to stand, limned in the light leaking into the room around the wooden shutters at the window. She looked, in her fit of heightened emotion, almost beautiful.

  “I’m sorry.” Aewen bowed her head. When she looked up again, Caerla had gone. She turned onto her stomach and wept until her tears ran dry.

  ****

  “Come in, Daughter.”

  Aewen stepped into her father’s outer chamber. He rose from a bench cushioned in elk-leather. Stuffed fowl perched on the mantel behind him—pheasants, croboks, several wingen, and even a rare kairoc. Tapestries woven in faded wool eased the graystone walls behind the mute creatures.

  Her father gestured to the footman at the door. After a pause, the latch clicked and they were alone. “Sit, Aewen. I wish to speak with you.”

  She sat on the bench opposite his and smoothed the blue wool of her kirtle. When she had removed every crease and wrinkle, she risked a glance at her father.

  He looked at her with intensity, but then sighed and seated himself also. “Your mother wanted to speak to you, but I decided to do so myself. I’m told you plan to refuse Prince Raefe.”

  Caerla! No one else knew her secret thoughts. A
ewen stared into the fire as the knife of her sister’s betrayal twisted inside her. “I can’t lie. I don’t rejoice in the match.”

  Her father hesitated. “I can’t take back my promise, Aewen. Do you plan to dishonor my word?”

  “Why did you give it without inquiring into my wishes?”

  “A king does not bow his knee to his offspring, but only to God.”

  “And have you done that?”

  His eyes widened. “Does a child instruct her father? Whether I have or not is my own concern. It is up to you to obey.”

  She met his blue gaze and felt her resistance crumble. She could not fight them all. “No, Father. I’ll not do that. May God help me when I marry Raefe.”

  6

  Banishment

  Dawn pinked the sky with promise, and the very air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. At the edge of the fountain, Kai trailed a hand in water of cool silk. A small trough formed and filled behind his fingers as ripples radiated outward. A shadow passed below, and a fin split the surface. A fish rolled to expose a sleek brown side before disappearing into the depths. Kai leaned back and let his gaze wander over the bronze figure of Talan astride an arching wingabeast topping the fountain at the pool’s center.

  He turned his head and caught sight of Elcon, who lingered beneath the twisted strongwoods. The Lof Shraen had slept little in the night. Kai knew this because he had occupied the small cot in Elcon’s dressing room. In truth, he’d had little slumber himself due to the incessant pacing in the adjoining bed chamber. Something had upset Elcon. That much he knew. Only the day before, a messenger had arrived on a lathered horse, sent by Shraen Eberhardt of Whellein in the north. Elcon had closeted himself with the messenger and afterward spoke to no one.

  When he at last stood before Kai, he looked him over with grave attention, and then tilted his head. “Will you sit there all the morn?”