Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (12 page)

He stared at her, his brow furrowed. “My armor,” he said. “So much blood. I can’t believe I’m alive.”

“’Tis a miracle,” she agreed, glossing over the how of it. “But why are you surprised? You of all people know the power of Ilios. He looks after his own.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said, but he still looked confused. He took another swallow of wine. “That reminds me. I still have to write my letters to Eadric’s family and the warrior monks at the monastery about twenty miles from here, on the edge of the Scythe Valley. Could I possibly trouble you for two sheets of paper and some ink before we lose the rest of the light?”

“Of course. Come inside. I’ll clean this up while you get that over with.”

“Thanks.”

They rose, and he followed her inside, where she set him up at the table with writing supplies and a candle. Her bower seemed so much smaller when he was in it. His big, powerful body barely fit on her dainty wooden chair when he sat down to begin, but he insisted he was comfortable. She lit a couple of hanging lanterns around the place and took one with her when she went to clean up after their meal.

This was quickly done, though the cut on her forearm which she’d made for the
Kiss of Life
spell stung a little when she got it wet. Rolling her sleeve up higher to check the bandage, she shrugged off the slight pain and dried the dishes by the stream.

When she brought the dishes back inside to put them away, Thaydor was blowing a bit of drying sand across the first completed letter. “Making progress?” She crossed behind him and put the dishes, cup, and utensils away in the cabinet.

“The one to the monastery’s done. Now for the hard one.”

She caressed his shoulder before leaving him alone again. “You’ll get through it. Then you’ll have earned this.” She set his poetry book down on the table by his hand.

He smiled ruefully at her.

She resisted the urge to run her fingers through his golden hair. “I’m going to go weed my garden.”

“Have fun!” he called in a sardonic tone as she danced lightly out of the pavilion. “But don’t overdo it, now. All pleasures in moderation, my lady.”

She shot him an arch look over her shoulder and traipsed off to her garden, still smiling as she passed the grassy area where Avalanche grazed contentedly, his coat pearlescent in the gathering twilight.

She let herself in through the willow-lattice enclosure that protected her raised beds from rabbits and deer and other forest creatures. She was rather tired and it was getting dark, but she raised the lantern and forgot all about the day’s troubles as she perused the vegetable beds and the medicinal herbs, tugging out scraggly shoots of weeds here and there as she went. There weren’t many, since she tended to yank them out as soon as they appeared, but just being in her garden soothed her spirits.

Yet a heaviness still hung over her heart after the events of the day. All the suffering she’d seen. She’d given all she had and it hadn’t felt like nearly enough. And then there was the lingering horror of her stubborn attempt to gather up Eadric earlier today…

And still, all of that, as hard as it had been, did not feel like the true cause of her restlessness tonight.

As she looked around at her garden and then slowly scanned the lovely woods, where the night birds had begun to call and the fairy lights were beginning to twinkle, she realized the source of her bittersweet mood. She’d be leaving this place on the morrow and might never come back.

Her superiors had warned her that she would sense it when the time came for her to move on. They had said she’d feel a stirring in her heart that she would have to follow if she was to stay on the path of the divine will for her life.

She knew that time had come.

It was both scary and exciting. She had not been expecting this at all, and yet it was not as difficult as she would have thought to let it go. She’d been here long enough.

I have been very happy here
, she thought, staring around at her peaceful abode, where she had learned so much about love and beauty and kindness and peace—the things that truly mattered in life.
But it’s time to say goodbye.

Time to take what she had learned in her hermitage out into the wider world, where it could do some good.

The thought of leaving to start down some new, as-yet unknown path in life frightened her a little—until Thaydor stepped out of the pavilion and came striding toward her with a smile.

What on earth was there to be afraid of with the Golden Knight by her side? She was most assuredly not helpless, but just in case she ran into any trouble, she knew he’d keep her safe.

Well, then
, she thought with a slight tremor at the momentousness of her realization. Saving the paladin from death appeared to have changed her fate, as well.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who needed to write a letter to the Bastion. She’d have to let Mother Superior know that she was leaving…

“Do try to contain yourself from all this hilarity,” the big knight teased as he joined her in the garden. But he frowned when he saw the strange expression on her face. “What’s wrong? You don’t look like you’re having much fun, after all.”

She sighed and summoned up a smile. “All the weeds are already pulled.” Then she peered at the book in his hand and tapped on its leather cover. “Maybe you should try your way instead. Read me a poem?”

“I’d love to, if you’re sure you’ve given up on the weeding festivities?”

When she nodded in amusement, he sat down on a large rock inside the enclosure and opened the book. “Ah, here’s one. Are you ready?” He glanced at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

“I think so.”

He cleared his throat and read in a thoughtful tone:

“When the nightingale sings,

The woods waxen green,

Leaf and grass and blossom springs,

In April, to be sure;

But love is to mine heart gone

With one spear so keen,

Night and day my blood it drinks,

Until my soul cannot endure.”

He looked at her to see how she liked it.

“That makes you feel
better
?” she exclaimed with a saucy grin and a hint of a self-conscious blush to have a paladin reading her poetry. “Sounds a little depressing to me.”

He smiled wryly at her comment and continued:

“Sweet lady, I pray thee

For one gentle word of love

While I live in this dark world,

For thou alone art pure.

With thy touch, my sweet beloved,

My bliss thou couldst achieve;

A sweet kiss of thy mouth

Might be my only cure.”

Wrynne went very still, taken off guard by that last part. She looked warily at him, her heart pounding all of a sudden with the guilt of her little benevolent secret.

Does he know somehow about the Kiss of Life spell? I thought he was unconscious. Does he remember somehow…?

He avoided her gaze, perhaps abashed or perhaps merely contemplating the wildly romantic words. Or perhaps waiting for her to come clean on just how far she had gone to save him.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” he murmured, glancing at her. “Perhaps a little overdramatic, considering some half-hysterical bard probably wrote it. Still, it makes me wonder…” His words trailed off, his eyes full of unspoken yearnings.

“Wonder what?” she asked softly, still unsure.

“What it must be like to love someone so much.”

Her tension eased at his sweet words. Relief flowed through her. He didn’t know. He just liked the poem. Quite a coincidence…if there was such a thing.

“It is very pretty,” she concurred as she sat down beside him. She couldn’t resist teasing him a little, though. “Who’d have guessed the fierce Golden Knight possessed such a romantic soul?”

“Don’t tell the Urmugoths,” he said drily.

“Or the dragons,” she added. “They’d never let you live it down.”

“Or the boys in the barracks.”

She laughed and clapped him fondly on the thigh as she stood up again and wandered back to her beds to hunt for any stray weeds, more moved by his chivalrous heart than she could say. If she did not distract herself—quickly—she might well be tempted to do something foolish.

She avoided looking at the beautiful man for fear he’d read her own daft longings in her eyes. Instead, she turned her attention back to a subject.
Hmm, who can I get to see to my garden once I’m gone?

Thaydor snapped the book shut and followed her. “So, what are we growing, then?”

She pointed out the many vegetables, the few flowers, and then the medicinal plants. “Mugwort, chamomile, comfrey, lavender, agrimony, nightshade—”

“Nightshade? Should I be worried? They do say poison is a woman’s weapon.”

“May I remind you I am one of the few people
not
trying to kill you,” she pointed out in mock indignation. “And before you judge me a witch, allow me to explain that a tiny bit of poison is a crucial ingredient in many a medicine. Say I want to cure someone of worms—”

“Ugh, let’s not.”

She laughed at his grimace and changed the subject. She didn’t want to bore him. “Did you finish your letters?”

He nodded with a melancholy smile.

“You look like you need more poetry.”

“There’s only so much it can do,” he admitted. Then he sighed. “Another boy is dead and it’s my fault.”

She tilted her head back and studied him in the fading light. “Do you really feel that way?”

His simple shrug was far sadder than his easy smile of earlier had let on. He shook his head and said nothing.

She took his hand, vaguely aware that she had started doing that quite often in their brief acquaintance. It had begun to feel almost second nature. She just couldn’t seem to help touching him. His hands were so big and strong and warm, and besides, she had already undressed the man, had she not? As his healer. But though she had mended his physical injuries, she could see in his wistful blue eyes that his heart was still hurting.

“I have an idea,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and then released it, leaving the garden enclosure. Dashing into the pavilion, she returned a moment later with two tiny, almost-spent candle nubs in her hand and a surprise for him rolled up under her arm.

“Here. Hold these,” she instructed.

He arched a brow as she gave him the stumpy candles, then she carried the lantern over to find a few large oak leaves. She picked them, then wove them together by their stems into what looked like two fairly sturdy little rafts.

She nodded toward the stone steps. “Come on.”

As the night’s darkness deepened from pearl gray to indigo, she led him down to the waterfall pool, holding the lantern up as she walked down the steps. On the flat flagstone area below, the pieces of his armor were still laid out to finish drying. Moonlight gleamed on the once-again bright steel and glistened on the rippling water.

Thaydor followed her over to the edge of the pool and joined her as she bent down, setting the lantern between them. She opened its delicate side door, took the wax nubs from him, and lit both from the flame within. She set each candle in one of the little green leaf-boats, giving one to him and taking one for herself. Then she nodded to him.

He stared at her, the tiny flickering light in his hand catching the blue fire in his eyes.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to honor Eadric’s memory?” she asked in a soft tone.

He shook his head, at a loss. Clearly, he had not expected this, had not realized what she was up to.

“I will, then.” Wrynne turned to the pool where the starlight danced, reflected in the water. She bent down, holding her candle-raft above the surface for a moment.

“Eadric, we never met, but you gave your life protecting us, the people of Mistwood. You made the choice not to retreat as ordered, but instead held your ground, trying to aid the warrior you admired and emulated. You were a brave young man, and we thank you for your sacrifice. You’ve earned your rest and a hero’s laurels in Elysium.” She released her floating candle into the pool and then turned to Thaydor.

He seemed to struggle, the angles of his face taut in the flickering candlelight as he leaned toward the pool. “You were a good lad,” he forced out gruffly. “Courageous and loyal. You believed in our cause. You’d have made a fine knight. I’m sorry,” he added barely audibly.

She laid her hand on his shoulder with tears in her eyes as Thaydor pushed the second little green boat toward the center of the pool.

In silence, they watched the tiny glowing lights drift slowly toward the brook that flowed out the other end of the pool. She caressed his arm, but when her touch stilled, he covered her hand with his own.

After a heartbeat, he lifted it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You truly are the kindest person I have ever known.”

She held his gaze in wonder. But she hadn’t brought him down here to earn his praise. Only to cheer him up.

She glanced toward the candles moving steadily toward the brook, then brushed the tears off her cheeks and smiled at him. “Let’s follow them.”

“Huh?”

“Follow the lights. Let’s see how far they make it.”

He shook his head in regretful amusement. “I don’t feel much like hiking, to be honest.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Her smile widened. “Behold!” She sprang up and suddenly unfurled the Aladdin stretcher.

“What in the…?” he murmured, staring as she smoothed out the wrinkles while it floated three feet off the ground. “
What
is that?”

“Magical stretcher. The latest thing in the healing arts! I use it for my patients. Hold on to it, would you? Don’t let it get away. I need to fetch the pole.”

“It flies?” He grasped the edge of the mysterious floating tapestry while she dashed over to the hillside by the steps.

“Not very high. It’s only partly made from magic carpets.” She grabbed a walking stick that she left leaning by the steps for her occasional use.