Myrren's Gift (33 page)

“What is it you wish of us?” the older man asked, sensibly leaving alone whatever topic underpinned his previous comments.

“Your protection. No one knows we are here—well, only one but he is a mere valet. I have covered our tracks well. Our trail goes cold at Farnswyth and none of the villagers of Rittylworth have seen us.”

“We offer it gladly to the Lady Ylena. Does she know?”

“That she will remain here for a while? Yes. I know she will be happy and she does understand the danger of returning to Argorn. I have already counseled her on this. She needs time to recover from the atrocities she has experienced. Beware. Jakub. there are moments when she strikes me as unstable.

Traveling with her. I saw flashes of more than just anger at what she has been through.” He could hardly say he was so familiar with Ylena that he could tell something had changed deep at her core. Instead he had to rely on Jakub accepting his friend’s sensitive intuition. “I sense she could unravel entirely if she suffers further shock. She needs to be protected—from all stresses, not just the King.” The old man nodded as if to say it would be done. “And you, Romen. Where now for you?”

“I am chasing down an old woman I met recently at Pearlis, a fairground fortune teller. I have a message for her from her family.” Wyl lied. He did not want to share his plan to travel to Briavel; the old monk would not approve. He moved on hurriedly, hating himself for being so unfaithful to this good man. “Then Felrawthy to return Captain Donal to his family—although I cannot predict when that will be.” Jakub’s rheumy eyes studied Romen’s and Wyl squirmed under the scrutiny. If only he knew more of Romen’s background. Instead Wyl just nodded. “I will send word.”

“As you wish.” Jakub said. “Just remember, my boy, you cannot outrun your demons. They will catch you. Best face them.”

Wyl was astounded by this comment and could do little more than reach for his cup and swallow a deep draught.

“What’s different about you?” Jakub wondered aloud.

“More gray hairs?” Wyl offered, just a little too quickly.

The old man sensibly held his tongue, though his eyes, expressive as always, said plenty. “We will preserve and keep the head in the secret grotto beneath the monastery, which I’m sure you remember,” he said and winked. Wyl had no idea what the innuendo meant. “It will be safe.”
Chapter 19

Fynch and Knave made it back to Briavel on foot, after several days of traveling. The horse had gone lame not far from Sharptyn across the border. Fynch had left the majority of the money Romen had given him with his sister, but the small portion he carried with him allowed him to pay the stableman at the village to take care of the horse until he could return for it. Fynch had no idea when that might be but he was not prepared to sell the beast, for it had been a gift from Valentyna. To avoid any questions about why a commonfolk child should be riding a horse and carrying a purse, Fynch told the stableman that he was taking the beast back to Briavel for a merchant and the coin had been provided for the horse’s care.

The man had shrugged, uninterested, merely handing over the bronze disk he would need to reclaim the horse.

A family of tinkers gave the boy and his dog a ride out of Sharptyn, but Fynch could tell that Knave made his hosts nervous and after half a day’s ride he had thanked them and struck out on foot into open country.

The morning they arrived. Valentyna was on the battlements and speaking with Liryk, head of the Briavellian Guard—a good man, loyal to her father. The soldier inwardly marveled at the Queen’s composure and once again considered how unlike most women she was. It did not seem to matter to her that at this moment her hair was being torn from whatever clasp was supposed to hold it back and was now whipping about her face. He recalled his fears for her, which he now realized were unfounded.

Valentyna was self-assured and comfortable in her role. He had to remind himself that she had been roaming around the palace battlements since she was old enough to talk and, since the incident in Tallinor when Magnus’s son had broken her doll, had preferred the games of men rather than the more genteel pursuits expected of women.

He was not alone in his admiration. All of the Guard were in awe of how well she masked her grief.

Everyone, not just in the castle, but in Briavel itself, knew how Valor had doted on his daughter…and likewise how she had revered her father. She was every bit a worthy successor despite not being a son.

In fact most people forgot she was a woman until she attended formal events where she was forced to take on a more gracious appearance. Then she became breathtaking—a far cry from the tomboy they were used to. And now she was their Queen and Liryk wondered whose duty it might be to remind her that the sovereign was to be protected at all costs. She would no longer enjoy the freedom of riding the moors, disappearing on hunting trips, spending nights in the woods.

He heard the cry go up from the watchtower and waited for news. The runner came soon enough. Liryk excused himself from the Queen.

Returning, he smiled. “The boy and his dog are back, your majesty.”

“Fynch!” she exclaimed and turned to leave. “Excuse me, Liryk. Perhaps we could finish our discussion later?”

He bowed his agreement and Valentyna departed, issuing orders that the visitors were to be brought to her immediately at the Bridge—a small walkway between two of Werryl’s shorter towers. It had been one of Valentyna’s favorite haunts as a child because there she could hide from her nursemaids and later her tutors, as well as anyone else who attempted to force womanly pastimes upon her. It was still a special place for her now. A haven where she could cast her thoughts aloud to the wind.

“Your majesty!” said a familiar voice and she saw Fynch coming toward her, although Knave was faster and at her heels within a bound or two, stretching up to lick her gleefully.

“You wretch. Knave,” she said, laughing and wiping away his salutation.

Fynch was more reserved in his greeting but Valentyna was having none of it—they had been through much together. As soon as he was done bowing, she scooped the little boy into her arms and hugged him fiercely.

“I didn’t know if you’d return to me. I’ve been so worried for you.”

“No need. Not with Knave close by, your majesty. Did it all go all right?” he ventured awkwardly.

Valentyna knew he referred to her father’s burial. “I got through it. It was very private for good reason, which helped.” She took his hand. “Sit with me at this bench and tell me everything.” His face became serious. “No good news, majesty.”

“Nevertheless, I must know all that you do.”

He told her everything, watching her become crestfallen and then anxious as his story drew to a close.

“So you were right; he did not betray us and now he’s dead,” she said, looking out across the moors.

Fynch shook his head. “I never doubted it, majesty. Wyl Thirsk stayed true to the end. He and the mercenary. Romen Koreldy. fought side by side to protect your father.” Her eyes watered at the mention but she refused to cry any more over her situation. The King was dead.

No tears would bring him back. She was now the Queen and she would not let Briavel down. Crying had no place in her life.

“And you trust this Koreldy?”

Fynch shrugged. “I…I don’t know what to think, your majesty. I am trying to work only with the facts.

He carried Wyl’s body back to Morgravia in what was clearly open defiance of Celimus. I have no doubt he walked back into direct danger by returning to Morgravia and I can only wonder at how he survived. He assured me he told enough of the Legion his story so that Thirsk’s name could not be darkened by any of Celimus’s lies. I saw Wyl’s sister with my own eyes. She was willingly in the care of Romen.” He paused and then added carefully. “But more than anything, your majesty. I trust Knave.” She turned from looking out toward the moors to stare at the boy beside her. Her brow creased in query.

Fynch continued. “You know how I’ve told you about Knave’s strange behavior towards others.” She nodded.

He took a deep breath. “Well. I now truly believe that this dog only trusts those who were true to Wyl.” Valentyna wanted to smile; she felt the urge to ruffle the lad’s hair and tell him it was all in his imagination.

But something stopped her. Something about Fynch forced her to pay attention and treat him as one should an adult. His ability to gather and interpret information had astounded her in their brief time together. And it was Fynch who had kept her from falling apart in those early hours. He had acted with a maturity beyond his years, standing up to her to make her realize the danger should she rush back to the palace before her safety could be assured. This little boy, a Morgravian no less, had gone to the palace alone to discover whether it was safe for her to return, and had found the courage to face her men—who, no doubt, had been disbelieving and perhaps even derisive of his claim that he had Valentyna in a secure place. She recalled now how he had found her again, this time with her guards in tow, and urged her to come out of hiding. He had held her hand as she—Queen now—emerged to face her Commander, Liryk, and counseled her to remain strong despite her grief. “Briavel needs to see its Queen as a tower, even though she might feel like crumbling,” he had whispered. She had not forgotten those brief yet inspirational words of encouragement.

Everything about him was brave and, yes, serious. One could hardly treat him as the child he surely was when faced with the knowledge of all that he had personally done to help Wyl and then herself. No, she would not ruffle his hair or speak down to him.

She noticed he was watching her reaction. “Go on, Fynch.” He shrugged again. “It’s hard to explain, your majesty.”

“Try.” she encouraged.

“Knave is possessed of magic—I no longer suspect it I know it!” he blurted out. “That’s my way of explaining it.” She had not expected this and fought to hide the look of surprise on her face. He continued. “I told you once how Wyl’s eyes changed color at the witch-burning.” She nodded. Valentyna could still hardly imagine it, for Briavel had outlawed witch-burnings so long ago.

“I saw it occur.” he said gravely. “And so did one other person but he is now dead, according to Romen.

I am the only living witness.”

“So what are you telling me?” Valentyna felt frustrated by the mystery.

“From the moment of Myrren’s death when she closed her ill-matched eyes and Wyl opened his to reveal the same. I believe Knave became connected to Wyl and those he loved in a way that is powerful…far more than friendship.”

She did not even want to think beyond hearing the word “magic” spoken. It just sounded too far-fetched.

“And how do you relate this to Koreldy?”

“I don’t. I’m baffled by it because Knave treated Romen in the same way he would Wyl. In fact—and I know you’ll think I am imaginging this—but Romen greeted Knave using the same mannerisms that Wyl used to.”

She made a deprecating sound. “I think you may be stretching now, Fynch.” Valentyna could not help her skepticism, but when she glanced toward Knave, the dog gazed back with such unnerving intensity it made her look away.

“Possibly.” Fynch said a little sadly. “But I can’t explain why or how Romen Koreldy—a stranger, a mercenary, a man hired to murder the General—would know Wyl’s dog.” Fynch began to tick things off aloud now as his mind began to organize the facts. “When we entered the room, he yelled out the dog’s name. How would he know it? He had never seen Knave before. And, more to the point, if Knave is hostile to anyone who Wyl did not care about, then why would Knave even tolerate someone who might threaten Wyl’s life, let alone lick him and roll over for him? The truth is, your majesty, I have witnessed Knave growl at people who are known and not necessarily disliked by Wyl.” He looked up, questions written on his serious little face, but Valentyna had no answers for him. In fact, she felt disturbed that he was asking her to base all trust, from here on, on the notions of a dog.

“Fynch…”

“No, listen to me, your majesty,” he said, not intending to be rude. She let it pass, caught up in what he might say next. “There is something strange going on here. I can’t put my finger on it but every bit of me senses that a curiosity has occurred—something that defies logic and all that we know. I can’t give you a proper reason but I sincerely believe we must trust Romen Koreldy and I know that he will not do you harm. He made a blood promise to Wyl Thirsk to protect you. I feel Romen has somehow”—Fynch rubbed his hands through his hair distractedly as he tried to search for the right words—“that he has somehow taken on Wyl’s duties…desires…I don’t know, your majesty. It’s as though Wyl Thirsk is still with us.”

There, it was said.

Valentyna was lost for words. She looked back at Knave and once again it was as though the dog was seeing through her. into her, touching her thoughts. She felt riveted by his intense gaze and somehow knew it would not release her until she agreed.

Finally she nodded. “All right, Fynch. I know
you
mean me no harm—so I trust you. I trusted Wyl and I know Knave somehow protects us both. I can’t explain it either. Shar help us, but we will put our trust in Romen Koreldy.”

Valentyna saw the brave little boy’s body relax and at that moment Knave suddenly stepped up, placed his paws on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. Then he was down on all fours and sniffing around like any other dog, as though nothing had passed between them.

“That dog
is
very strange.”

“He knows more than we do, majesty. Trust him.”

“Anything else you need to tell me?” she said, wanting to move on from this disturbing conversation.

“Yes.” he said, delving into a small bag. “Romen sent you this letter. He said it would help explain a few things.”

She took it. happy to have something tangible from the mysterious Koreldy. She would read it later in private. “And what will you do now?” she asked, hoping to hear that he would stay.

“I am not going back to Morgravia. your majesty, unless duty to you calls for it. If you will accept me, I will serve you in any way you see fit.”