Risen (24 page)

Moira was uncertain what made her
pause, but she did, unable to draw her eyes from the pair. It was a
strange phenomenon, and it wasn’t just Moira who was affected by
it. Most had difficulty pulling their stares from Ravan and
Nicolette. There was just something so captivating about them,
especially when they were together.

Instead of closing the
chamber-bathroom doors, Moira did something very unprincipled. She
peered from behind the heavy curtain and spied at the couple
standing on the far side of the bedroom.

Nicolette was speaking softly, her
hands clasped loosely behind her back, facing her balcony and the
parched realm beyond. She was stunning in the red brocade dress
Ravan had commissioned to be made just for her. He was, as he
always was, in his battle leathers and appeared mildly distressed.
Gesturing with one hand out the balcony to the sky, his tone wasn’t
angry, more concerned as he articulated his frustration, obviously
concerned with the continued dry spell.

A gentle laugh escaped Nicolette’s
lips, and she motioned with one hand almost as though the drought
should somehow be of no concern to them. Looking beyond, her other
hand went up to brush the cheek of the man standing next to
her.

Ravan’s response was immediate.
Obviously distracted from those things that might have troubled him
a moment before, he turned, reached an arm about her waist, and
drew her near. His head dropped so that his lips touched the white
of Nicolette’s throat, and he moved into her, running the kiss down
her neck to the back of her shoulder.

Moira could not stop herself from
watching, most significantly because the clear, blue day beyond was
immediately clouding over. The lovers’ passion grew, right on the
step of the balcony as Nicolette returned the kiss. Ravan pulled
her more into himself, a gesture so sincere that Moira believed the
two would truly become one.

Outside there fell the first flakes
of snow. Snow…in June! Beyond the small storm was sunshine in the
distance, but the clouds were expanding very quickly, and soon what
was left of the blue sky would be entirely gone.

Moira blinked as the snow swirled
delicately, becoming slower and heavier, gradually turning to rain.
And with that, the drought was lifted. Ravan, as though entirely
oblivious of the brewing storm, focused entirely on Nicolette. He
guided her, and the lovers made their way to the bed. Moira
silently retreated farther within the washroom, drawing the door
partially closed behind her as she did.

She sat unmoving, her singular eye
pinched shut as she heard the lovers just beyond the door. With
scarcely a sound, she listened, drawn into the beautiful carnality
of it, herself filled with the sensuality of the moment. When the
lovers were finally still, and all was quiet, Moira left what
remained of the laundry, escaping through the servant’s door at the
back of the washroom.

* * *

“I wish you to bring to me nine
things.” Nicolette’s request slammed Moira back to the present. “I
have need of them, and you might gather them more easily than could
I, with discretion.” Nicolette rose abruptly from the bench. “And
have Moulin help you.”

The words drew Moira from her happy
memory to the stark present, and she was surprised for her lapse.
“Anything, my Lady. Whatever you need, I would do it for you…and
Risen.”

Nicolette listed the items, and
Moira’s eye widened.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

†

“Who are they?” Sylvie asked
softly, meaning who’d attacked the realm.

Her question surprised Risen. They’d
been quiet for some time, and he was wondering the same thing. “I
don’t know. I don’t think they’re French. Father is on good terms
with the King, and he says the neighboring realms are
stable.”

“Are they English, the war
perhaps?”

Shrugging, Risen replied, “I’m not
sure. I don’t think so. They don’t wear a coat of arms, which is
unusual.” He wondered if he should say anything else, if it would
be too raw, but she seemed to expect more. “They almost appear to
be rogue. But, it makes no sense.”

This was foremost on his mind as
they wound their way through the woods. Why had they been attacked?
And by whom? Who’d have such a grudge against his father to wage
battle against the Ravan Dynasty? Risen couldn’t know that he would
have the answer to these questions sooner than he
thought.

He heard horses long before seeing
them. This surprised him, for it made no sense that the enemy might
be coming back for them. But there was no mistaking it. The sounds
were coming from the north, from deeper in the forest, not from the
direction of the castle. At least this was what he reasoned from
the direction he believed they were traveling.

“This way,” he said urgently,
quietly. “We must turn south, try to get to the edge of the forest
before they catch us.”

At first he tried to convince
himself that the enemy was lost, that they were simply altering
their own course because they were being chased by his father’s
troops. Yes, that must be it, and any moment now, Father would
catch up with them—save them from this awful day. Then he would
take Sylvie to the castle to live with them now that her family
was…gone.

True, Risen believed himself a
warrior already, but his good conscience also told him that they
were only children in the eyes of others, especially enemy
soldiers. As precious minutes passed and his father was nowhere to
be seen, he wondered again, What do these men stand to gain by
wasting time and risking being discovered just to sport with the
lives of two urchins? Surely they could not know that he was the
son of Ravan—Lord of the Dynasty? Risen hadn’t worn his robes to
indicate such a thing. He’d simply dressed warmly and in his common
clothes when he’d gone to see the colt this morning. That was a
good fortune, he believed, for he would blend in and be ignored on
his secret quest to save Sylvie and her family.

Just like that, as though someone
had clubbed him with a rock, he was reminded of what happened this
morning. It struck bitterly at his resolve, for he believed he’d
failed her family. Illogically, he thought he could have done more
to save them, to rescue them from their awful fates.

This haunted Risen as he ran, his
impotence in all of it. Never, in all the trials his father had put
him through, had he failed, at least not to the point that he
couldn’t recover and try again until he could succeed. But there
was no try again this morning. Murder and death could not be
reversed. Of this he was painfully aware.

It was much too dreadful to think of
Tobias. It made his breath short and his eyes blurry to consider
his best friend and the terrible pyre that must have taken him. And
Sylvie! How horrible must it be for her?

He felt her small hand in his, shook
his head. It was just too much, and it was also terribly
distracting. No, he must not allow these thoughts to draw him away
from the obstacles they faced.

Distraction can get you killed, he
remembered his father teaching him. Distraction can be a greater
enemy than a blade, he’d cautioned.

Risen never really understood, had
only nodded obediently. He so wanted his father to think he
comprehended all the lessons he meant to share. Some of them,
however, just seemed so ambiguous.

His father had taken his chin
harshly, forced him to look him in the eye. “Risen, this is
important. Do not lie to me. Do you understand?”

He lied. “Of course, Father. I
understand.” It hurt his feelings that he’d been so urgent, and
what did it matter anyway?

But, he’d not understood—had been
incapable…until today. Suddenly it was all clear, in all its awful
truth. He was running for his life, and all he could see were the
faces of those fallen and left behind. Shame washed over him.
Father had only meant to give him strength, to save him.

Focusing, he forced the images of
Herluin’s body and Sylvie’s charred home from his mind. He was his
father’s son and would do as he’d been taught, as Father would wish
him to do! This, he knew he must, or he and Sylvie could
die.

Concentrating, he tried to conjure
up the deep, throaty voice of his father—so strong and certain—in
his mind. He tried to recount the harrowing moments when he
believed nothing could possibly defeat him as long as Father was
there with him. Risen believed Ravan could defeat the rising sun if
he meant to, and so had all the men who stood with him, at the
ready each day.

Now he understood, realized why
these men attached themselves to Ravan, why they were so loyal, why
they would fight for him until they could fight no more. It was
because of the man Ravan was.

Risen held a new and profound
respect for his father. Thank you, he thought to himself as tears
threatened. These only made him feel weaker, and he swiped at them
with the cuff of his jacket. He believed himself inadequate
compared to who his father would have him be, falling so short of
the mark. I tried, I really meant to save them, he swallowed
heavily in his silent dialogue with himself and tried to focus. It
is what Ravan would say to do. It is what Ravan would want of
him.

Her soft voice interrupted him at a
terribly weak moment. “Risen, I’m sorry I’ve put you in harm’s
way,” she said so sincerely.

“Don’t say that!” He was
embarrassed and too cross with her. Then he regretted his words,
especially when she became quiet again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to be so short. But you don’t ever have to apologize…for
anything.”

At that moment, he vowed that he
would not be caught by surprise again, that he would, if he ever
saw his father again, do exactly as he was instructed, pay better
attention. He was, at that moment, determined to be his
father.

Staying calm as he could, he ran
through his head things Ravan had insisted he learn—tracking,
hunting, surviving. And survival deemed that he must force any
unproductive thoughts from his mind. It only served him and Sylvie
to concentrate on their current state of affairs, to calculate
their every move.

Sylvie was smaller, even though she
was nearly a year older, and she clutched her kirtle in one hand so
that she might not stumble as they ran. Risen glanced back at her
and briefly wondered if she wished for trousers to run in. It
almost brought a smile to his face.

They’d played that once, at her
insistence. Tobias and Risen argued against it, but in the end they
caved for, weak as she was, there were ways that he believed Sylvie
was the strongest of them all. Giving Sylvie a set of his own worn
play clothes, he’d risked their friendship and happiness, should
they be discovered by someone. It was simply not
allowed.

But they weren’t discovered, and
Sylvie changed into Risen’s clothes behind a tree. It did something
odd, something very visceral to him when he spied a flash of her
pale arm as she changed, knew that she was in only her
undergarments behind the sheltering tree. That altered things for
him, set something in perfect motion in a very profound way. Then,
when she stepped from behind the trees, he was changed forever.
Never had he seen anything more beautiful in all his
life.

Thick blond hair cascaded freely,
escaping where it could to frame her face in a simply perfect way.
Her eyes, so pale and lovely, were enormous and shined with
excitement at what she was doing. She clasped her hands together in
front of herself and shook them up and down in delight.

“Look! I’m a boy!” she squealed, an
enormous grin crossing her features.

Risen knew at that moment, beyond
anything, that he was in love.

That day had been splendid. They
galloped about in the forest, slaying imaginary evil and leading
armies into battle, Sylvie in Risen’s clothing. She insisted that
she was the king, King Sylvester, and commanded her charges
brilliantly.

The entire day, Risen could scarcely
take his eyes from her. At one point, he was the villain and was
perfectly undone by her and Tobias. Flat on his back on the forest
floor, he conceded defeat, Tobias sword at his throat as he lay
supine.

Approached by the king, Tobias
asked, “Shall I behead him for you, my liege?”

Sylvie took the sword from her
brother, held it at Risen’s throat for what seemed an eternity,
their eyes locked in something he was unable to define and dreaded
would end.

It took Tobias clearing his throat
before she said, “No, I will spare his heart today,” her eyes never
leaving Risen’s

“Oh, come on!” Tobias complained.
“Where is the fun in that? Let’s kill him!”

Sylvie held Risen’s gaze, a smile
playing on her lips. “No, he is mine to do with as I wish. He will
live.”

Risen believed it was a sign,
something she was meaning to say only to him. He thought his life
perfect, a dream, one from which he hoped to never awaken. When
their adventures were done that day, and she changed back into her
own clothes, she hugged him. He endured it stiff-armed, unable to
hug her back, terrified she would sense, feel, what was happening
to him. From that second forth, she was all he could think
of.